


Facing the Storm

by Kirasum



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirasum/pseuds/Kirasum
Summary: Athos’ first mission as a newly commissioned Musketeer has him not only running into trouble, but stretches Aramis and Porthos limits as well ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there in the past days I’ve written my new ff.  
> It’s my take on how Aramis, Athos & Porthos became friends.  
> The story can be read as a stand alone, but it mentions several backstory topics of my ff  
> “In the hour of need I can count on you.”  
> “Facing the storm” is finished! And I try! to post it between 3-4 days a week, more often when I find the time to do it.  
> My thanks goes out to Beth & Helen for helping me with proofreading and medical details. My apologies to all of you who have been waiting for the next chapter of “In the hour of need …” I had only little time during the weekend, but I will post the next chapter on Saturday as usual. Thanks for your understanding xx Kira 
> 
> English is not my first language, so be patient with me. Thank you! 
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the authors of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Facing the storm**

_“Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes.”_

_"La vie est une tempête, mon jeune ami. Baigné de soleil, vous serez brisé sur les récifs l’instant d’après. Ce qui fait l’homme,c’est votre réponse à cette tempête."_

_Alexandre Dumas_

**Chapter 1**

**⚔⚔**

“Porthos! Watch out!”

The loud shout of the other Musketeer, his voice obviously filled with fear, a sound which he had never heard from him before, was the first odd noise he heard. Turning slowly around he spotted a fifth raider, he hadn’t seen earlier.

_How could we miss him? We counted four. Where did he come from?_

Porthos tried to escape the attack, but it was too late, the young shabby man, probably about twenty, who smelled of alcohol and onions, had fired his pistol. While Porthos was waiting to feel the pain gripping his body or a frightening blackness which would kill him, that somehow didn’t come, he raised his own pistol in slow motion and fired his last bullet from his second pistol.

_Now, we are out of ammunition._ He bitterly thought realising that although they had managed to kill four other raiders, they had lost the battle.

The second loud noise was unexpected and it took Porthos a while to understand where it had come from. His brother-in-arms had not only warned him, but had thrown himself into the line of fire, when he realised that his warning shout had come too late. Porthos’ fired bullet met its aim and the raider dropped with a hole in his chest to the stone floor.

The third loud thud was the worst noise and it made the streetfighter shudder while he tried to grab for his comrade’s arms with both hands, but he was too late. Hit by the other fired bullet the Musketeer swayed dangerously, stepped backwards, slipped on the stone floor and tumbled down the stairs, which led to the first floor of the château.

Porthos only heard his comrade slipping down over the circular staircase, his head first, the rest of his body behind. His dark leather uniform touching the wooden stairs and giving only a little protection to the body of the injured man. The metal of his brother’s sword scraped over the stairs and it reminded him of the sound of a carriage driving over a bumpy ground and hitting each elevated stone.

After what felt like an eternity Porthos heard a loud thud, when the body of the other Musketeer - he couldn’t see any longer - finally reached the floor at the end of the staircase. Eerie silence followed the fall of his comrade. No moan, no whimper, no shout, no scream and it scared Porthos.      

The streetfighter had waited while the young man fell down the stairs, which must have been only a few seconds. Kind of frozen from the loud sounds Porthos was now startled and jumped into action. With a last glance over all their attackers, who were lying dead at different spots in the corridor, where they had started their attack minutes ago, the big Musketeer rushed down the stairs, which were covered with blood spots and a long blood trace. Seeing the red colour which belonged to the body fluid of the Musketeer, he feared the worst.

Several seconds later he dropped next to the limp body. The young Musketeer was lying on the cold stone floor. His body had collapsed in a strange form, somehow curled up like a hedgehog, who is in hibernation and disturbed by a cat, which played with it and moved it on its side. The face of the injured man was pressed on the stone floor, covered by thick curls, which hung messily over his cheeks, both hands tangled around his right side and his legs outstretched on the floor.

_Please let him live. Please God._

Porthos started to pray, while he frantically removed the black glove from his right hand and felt for a pulse at the injured man’s neck. When he couldn’t feel anything, because his fingers had started to tremble heavily, he howled out loud, then he gently turned his brother on his side, cradling his head carefully in his hands, while manhandling him. He could see blood seeping from a head wound on his right temple, which was still bleeding. With the greatest care he could muster, he put his head in his lap. The eyes of the man in front of him were closed.

Sitting now on the cold floor his legs and feet outstretched. Porthos was glad that he could use his lap as a cushion. After he was certain that his comrade was lying in a more comfortable position on his right side. He lifted his right palm and placed it gently onto his brother’s chest. He could feel the fast heartbeat under his strong hand and he sighed out loudly, realising that he must have held his breath while examining him.

Even in his unconscious state the injured Musketeer’s hand was still pressing down over the area of his left hip and Porthos could see blood seeping from under the long fingers, finding its way to the stone floor. The streetfighter’s eyes wandered back from the bullet wound in his brother’s lower abdomen to his face. The eyes still shut, the breathing barely audible, but kind of erratic, and the skin on his face much too white. The freckles seemed to have gone, instead a layer of cold sweat had formed on his face, especially the forehead, as he gently wiped the strands of hair out of his face.       

“Can you hear me?”

Porthos broke the silence and was startled by his own voice which sounded dull, harsh, far away, somehow broken, expressing his own emotional state of shock.

The streetfighter received no answer. He wished his other comrades would come and help him, but they were still outside of the château. They had decided to split up and the two of them had entered the castle, while the others had gone to check on several sheds, the small stable and the huge French and English gardens.

“Come on, open your eyes.”

Porthos bent over his comrade’s ear and whispered the words over and over again and quietly calling his name, while watching his face closely, but the latter didn’t react. Porthos searched in his clothes for a handkerchief and when he finally found a piece of cloth he pressed it down on the wounded temple, stopping the blood loss. He knew he had to examine the wound at his brother’s abdomen and for other injuries he might have sustained while falling down the stairs. He wasn’t sure if the young man, whose head was lying in his lap, would survive or die in his arms.

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t die. Live!” Porthos heard himself saying in the silence of the great corridor where they were now sitting and lying. “Do you hear me, fight. Help is on the way. I am sure of it.”

He bent over the man’s ear and whispered in it, while considering what he should do next. A sound from behind him startled him.    

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Ten hours earlier_ **

“He’s not fit for duty Captain!”

Porthos shouted angrily at Tréville and both men locked their eyes for several seconds.

“Careful, Porthos!”

Tréville’s pale blue eyes did not let go of his soldier’s face, until the latter ruefully dipped his head and mumbled an apology. Tréville continued in his loud roaring voice, which Aramis was certain could be heard outside the Captain’s office even with the door closed.

“I’ve ordered you to take him under your wings.” Tréville shouted angrily back. “You know that he has a problem with alcohol. It’s your duty to stop him.”

“How can I save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?” Porthos asked a little confused. “All I am saying is that he is not fit to come along to the palace today. Aramis, say something.” Porthos turned his head towards his brother pleading with his eyes for help.

The medic had watched his Captain and Porthos for a while to become upset about their new commissioned Musketeer. Athos had been only commissioned several days ago. Tréville had needed more men. Aramis wondered if the Captain would have supported any other recruit such as he had done with Athos. They all knew that the talented swordsman had saved their Captain’s life*, but the medic wasn’t sure if that was the only reason why Tréville was protecting him more than other soldiers who wanted a commission to become a King’s Musketeer. Now Aramis sighed and looked first at Porthos blaming him with his brown eyes that he had put him into this position, before he removed his hat from his head, while kneading it, embarrassed he looked at his commanding officer.

“Porthos is right, Captain. Athos is not fit for duty today.”

“He was in time for morning muster, he stood directly beside you, Aramis. His back straight, his eyes directed forwards. He appeared fit to me.” Tréville answered with a dangerous tone in his voice telling Aramis not to provoke him any further. “So what makes you think that he’s not fit?”

Before Aramis could answer that question, Porthos stepped nearer to their Captain and answered for the medic.

“He is drunk Captain. He’s not sober.”

“For being drunk he could still walk upright and hide his facial expressions.” Tréville now sighed, knowing that he should listen to his two advanced soldiers.

“We know that he can tolerate more alcohol than other men and we even managed to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor in following your orders for these past weeks, Captain, but …”

Aramis wanted to continue, when Porthos finished his sentence.

“But last night he managed to hide from us. We couldn’t find him anywhere. He returned to the garrison one hour before morning muster. Alfons, the inkeeper from the _“Royal sword”,_ had mercy and brought him back after the gates of the city were opened in the morning. He recognised his blue Musketeer cape.”

“Athos could barely stand and wasn’t able to walk on his own.” Aramis added. “I’ve no idea how he managed to come to morning muster at all, but one thing is for certain he’s still not sober.”

Aramis closed his report, while remembering the smell from Athos during morning muster. It had smelled of cheap wine.

“I warned him in the beginning. I told him that I won’t allow him to become a soldier and a Musketeer in the King’s guard, if he wasn’t in time for morning muster. I guess that’s the reason why he appeared instead of sleeping it off somehow.”

Tréville drew his hand over his face, then he sat down behind his desk on his wooden chair, put both of his elbows on the dark brown desk, supporting this way his chin and looked up to them.

“Captain ...”

Porthos tried it again, however he was stopped by Tréville who lifted his left hand to give him a sign to stay silent.

“Do you know why he hid from you and drank himself into a stupor last night? Are other recruits and Musketeers picking on him again?”

Tréville knew exactly that there were several of his men, who were envious because Athos had been protéged by him and commissioned faster than others. He had known that it was a risk, albeit he had seen Athos’ abilities and during the past weeks the young man had managed to show him his gratitude by working hard. Somehow Tréville had the feeling that he had given the young man a new purpose in life that perhaps helped him to drink less. Until now.

Nevertheless the Captain of the Musketeers was well aware that the withdrawn young man carried a dark secret in his heart he wasn’t able to talk about yet. He assumed some trauma that had caused him to lose a loved person, but what did he know?

“Not that I’ve heard of. Certainly there are still recruits who don’t like Athos, however they admire his sword skills and see that he’s a born soldier, when he’s not drunk.” Aramis said cautiously.

“Now that he’s commissioned they are keeping their distance.” Porthos added.

“So it will be your task to find out what happened last night!”

Tréville ordered them, looking both his soldiers in their eyes, stood up again and walked towards the door, he stopped at his metal folding screen and fetched his hat and blue cape, which he put on. The hat still in his hands he turned towards his men. “I’ve to go to the palace, meeting with the King. Make sure that he sobers up and then come after the other Musketeers. You will be allowed to start your palace guard later today.” Tréville went over to the door, opened it and turned around. “I will talk to him tonight and you can bet that I will have him on stable duty for the rest of the week. Oh, and Porthos, try not to batter him this time.”**

Porthos smirked, while Aramis inwardly sighed. Their Captain knew exactly that it hadn’t been Porthos’ intention to cause his comrade so much bruising several weeks ago, but their stubborn new recruit had fought him a whole afternoon long.**

Porthos looked ashamed over to Aramis who answered him, after Tréville had left.

“You know that the Captain just wanted you to cool off before seeing our drunkard.” He laughed and gave him a slap on his back.

Porthos looked sadly at him.

“Believe me I still feel guilty about that afternoon.”

“I know, _mon ami_ , but you do recall that Athos never held you responsible for his bruised ribs and bruises on his face.”

“That’s what makes it even worse.” Porthos mumbled. “Anyway I still think that he’s not fit for duty and I doubt that he will tell us why he went alone to that cheap and filthy tavern. He never says anything about his past. He is good in hiding his true emotions, unless he’s drinking.”

“Let’s make sure that we sober him up with cold water and food. Come, I have to tell Marsac that we will follow him a little later.”

“Don’t tell Marsac the reason.” Porthos suddenly looked at Aramis. “Or we have to hear again that Tréville should have never recruited Athos. He’s good at causing trouble talking nastily about Athos when he is with the recruits or other Musketeers. He still thinks that Tréville has made a big mistake by accepting Athos as a Musketeer.”

“Forgive Marsac. He’s from a noble family and sometimes he forgets that not only noble men are serving with him, but he is a good soldier and would give his life for you.”

Aramis put his hat back on his head and left Tréville’s office, followed by Porthos in the search of their miserable comrade.   

**_To be continued ..._ **

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kudos and lovely reviews xx Kira  
> Here is the next chapter.   
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

**⚔⚔**

Porthos turned his head looking in the direction from where he had heard the footsteps running over the stone floor. In his now sitting position with his injured comrade in his lap he wasn’t able to draw his sword, but he reached for his main gauche, just in case. He had dropped his two pistols in the corridor on the second floor as they were now empty.

When he saw another Musketeer approaching he put the dagger away and breathed out a sigh of relief, his facial expression relaxed, but this changed into an angry glare after he heard the next words spoken by the newcomer:

“What has he done this time? Stumbled down the stairs!? How often have I said this man only causes trouble.”

“Shut up, Marsac! Where’s Aramis?” Porthos shouted angrily.

Before Marsac could answer other running footsteps approached and Aramis appeared with a pistol in his hand.

“I’m here, Porthos. I heard the shots outside. Are you alright?” 

He gasped when he finally could see his two comrades on the floor. Without waiting further he crouched down on the floor, where Athos was still lying unconscious, removing both of his leather gloves after putting his pistol back in his weapons belt, he carefully started to examine the injured man.

“What happened?” Aramis asked in a gentle voice, while feeling Athos’s left wrist with his fingers for a pulse.

“He saved my life.” Porthos mumbled now feeling some moisture glistening in his eyes. “He’s unresponsive. Will he …” Porthos stopped asking the question and bending his face, so that his face touched Athos’ hair.

“I doubt that he saved you.” 

Marsac mocked from behind still not understanding how severe the whole situation was. Porthos breathed in deeply, still shaken, but ready to explode. The medic turned towards the other Musketeer and ordered in a harsh voice:

“Go back to my horse, bring me my medical kit and all our water bottles.” Without waiting for an answer from Marsac and hearing Porthos now shouting at him: “Go!” He turned all his attention back to Athos.

“I don’t know what you see in him, Aramis?” 

Porthos growled when Marsac had left the château, his full attention still on Athos’ face, while hoping that the young man would finally open his eyes again. Aramis ignored Porthos words while gently removing Athos’ hands from the wound on his left side. He could see blood seeping from a wound in his brother’s lower abdomen near his hip.

“What happened?” 

Aramis repeated his question while trying to get a better look at the wound, but knew that he had to remove the leather jacket and shirt first.

“He jumped in front of a bullet, slipped on the floor and fell backwards down the stairs.” Porthos quietly told him. “That bullet was meant for me. He tried to warn me, but when he saw that it was too late he threw himself in front of me. Why, Aramis?” He mumbled confused.  

Aramis sighed, but didn’t answer Porthos’ question. The young man who was now lying injured and so still in front of him was a riddle for him.

“Are all raiders dead?” Aramis asked, while trying to figure out how safe they were in this old château. 

“Five are dead.” Porthos mumbled. “I think they were all.”

“I thought there were only four?” Aramis looked up, astonished.

“That’s what Marsac counted earlier, but he obviously thought wrong. There was a fifth man who suddenly appeared out of nowhere with his weapon.”

“So we can assume that there is no immediate danger for us now?” Aramis asked.

“I think we have now fought them all. Why?”   

“We need to take him to a place where I can look him over better. A table would be good. We have to remove his jacket and shirt, so that I can examine him for other injuries and I need to treat this wound here. Right now I can see only this wound in his stomach and his head injury. Was he awake when you found him here on the floor?” Aramis added and asked.

“No, out cold, at first I thought he was dead.” Porthos mumbled again.

“We’ll make sure, that he will survive.” Aramis looked up to Porthos. “He saved you, my brother, so now we will save him.” Aramis tried to smile, but all he managed was a short curled lip.

“Let’s move him then. Can you help me?” Porthos asked, while shifting his legs in order to stand up.

“Do you know a place?” Aramis asked.

“I’ve seen a room over there, with a large table and a settee, when we started searching the castle, it’s down this hall, I will take him there.” 

With this said Porthos carefully stood up, while Aramis helped in holding Athos’ head. Then Porthos bent down and gently lifted the young man in his arms. Athos’ head was leaning on his chest, while with one arm he was holding him under his armpits and with the other under his bent knees. 

_ If the situation wasn’t so dire it would look funny. Athos would kick with his legs and arms at Porthos, if he knew. Better he doesn’t wake up now or they’ll both end up on the stone floor again.       _

Aramis thought, as he watched Porthos carrying Athos like a bride being carried over the threshold to the room at the end of the floor. His head was lolling on Porthos’ chest, so the strong Musketeer used his own chin to block it from tossing around further. That Athos was still unconscious scared Aramis and didn’t bode well. He had no idea if the bullet had hurt any organs, if so he wouldn’t be able to save him. 

Aramis sent a quick prayer towards heaven, then he walked next to his brothers-in-arms and pressed his hand on the bleeding stomach wound. When they reached the door, he opened it and helped the still unresponsive man into a more comfortable position. Porthos looked around the room and when he couldn’t find anything they could use as a pillow he removed his own leather jacket, folded it neatly and put it under Athos’ head. Then he looked questioningly at Aramis.

“Help me to lift his upper body, I need to undress him from his jacket and shirt. Where is Marsac?” Aramis asked more to himself, then he started his task, while Porthos lifted the upper body of the injured man. 

“He’s still too quiet.” Porthos stated, his voice filled with concern.

“Let’s hope he stays unconscious until I’ve had time to treat his gunshot wound.” Aramis answered, gripped now by the same fear that Porthos was feeling.

First he gently removed Athos’ leather jacket and then lifted his shirt. It stuck to the wound and Aramis mused that particles of the cloth of his shirt must have entered the wound as well.

“Help me to roll him on his side.” He ordered Porthos and again the two manhandled the unconscious soldier.

Aramis looked for any exit wound, but couldn’t find one.

“The bullet must still be in his stomach. Where is Marsac?” He now shouted angrily, while Porthos gently pulled Athos onto his back again.

“Aramis, his breathing is changing.” Porthos said, recognising suddenly that the injured man was starting to draw in more and more heavy breaths and slightly opened his mouth.

“It could be a sign that he’s waking up. Hold him tight. He will be confused and fight us. The pain he is in right now must be unbearable. 

Aramis bent closer over the wound to have a better look at the entry wound, when he heard footsteps walking slowly back towards them.

“Hurry up!” Porthos shouted angrily and Marsac started to run realising finally that Athos’ life might be at stake.    

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Nine hours earlier_ **

It had taken Aramis and Porthos awhile to help Athos back to his room at the garrison. At first he tried to evade them by weaving into the stable to prepare Roger for palace guard, but he failed several attempts to saddle his horse. After the third time Porthos blocked his way, while Aramis told him that they would not follow the other Musketeers.

“Leave me alone.” 

Athos had angrily shouted, then taking several steps backwards, to flee from Porthos he had managed to fall over his own feet and landed in an unworthy tumble on some hay bales, which softened the impact of his fall.

Exhausted he had closed his eyes while feeling suddenly very dizzy only to throw up in the next moment. Aramis gently rolled him on his side so that he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. Other Musketeers had gathered around them and looked curiously, but Porthos death glare told them to move on and fulfill their ordered tasks. When Athos started to heave dry, it was Aramis who laid a hand on the drunken man’s back and gently stroked over it.

“What are you doing to yourself, Athos?” 

He had softly asked, but of course he had received no answer. The famous angry glare that the young man normally gave people who tried to conquer his comfort zone was missing. Aramis mused that Athos was simply too spent to have the strength to show it.

In contrast to Aramis caring side, Porthos started to shout loudly at Athos to finally stand up and swearing under his breath that it would be his duty to clean the mess he had just caused later that day, knowing the very same moment that it would be him and not Athos who would do it, when they finally managed to bring the sick man back to his quarters.

At last the streetfighter had had enough he left Athos in Aramis’ care and returned two minutes later with a bucket filled with cool water. Ungently he poured the whole contents over Athos’ head. The cold water brought the drunken man back to his senses, angrily he shook his hair like a wet dog while water was running over his face and dripping on his shirt. He tried to escape Aramis’ touch, after he forced himself to stand up.

Without saying a word, but Aramis had the impression that he felt ashamed that they both witnessed him in this state of health, he weaved dangerously back to the entrance of the stable. When his feet tripped over a hay fork on the dirty floor, Porthos didn’t wait any longer. He grabbed the young Musketeer under his armpits and pushed him out of the stable, back towards Athos’ room. As he realised that the drunk man wasn’t able to walk on his own, he put one of his arms under Athos’ armpits and walked him to his room.

“Can you tell me how you managed to come to morning muster?” 

He asked curiously not believing that Athos had found the strength to stand still, while Tréville had mustered them, but Athos ignored his question. He wriggled and tried to escape the firm grip, but stopped when Porthos shouted at him finally to stay calm and let him help. Inside his room Athos dropped on his bed, closing his eyes and falling asleep at once. Porthos couldn’t help but to wrinkle his nose. The air in Athos’ room was sticky and smelled of vomit and cheap wine.

“What are we doing now?” Porthos asked and turned his head towards Aramis, who had followed him, at some distance.

“Now we make sure that he’s ready to walk on his own feet in several hours. We let him sleep, clean this mess here and in the stable and wake him afterwards, so that he can eat before we leave.” Aramis said in a neutral tone.

Porthos sighed.

“Can you explain to me why it’s up to us to do this, to help him? If he can’t follow an order, why should we help him?” Porthos angrily stated.

“Because he needs us.” Aramis simply said.

“He doesn’t deserve our help.” 

Porthos growled, while bending over the sleeping man and started to remove his soiled shirt and his boots.

“Yes, he does.” Aramis answered slowly. “We have done it before. So come on. It’s our fault too that he’s in this state we have lost sight of him.” He explained.

“I had good cards in my hand.” Porthos mumbled, while looking for a washcloth to clean Athos’ face.

“Porthos, please you always have good cards on your hands.” Aramis chided him, standing in Athos’s room with both of his hands on his hips and tried to oppress a loud chuckle.

“So you can have fun with this beautiful new barmaid from the  _ Wren _ , what’s her name, but I can’t have fun?”

“Yvette, and she’s not a barmaid, but the daughter of the owner. She asked me to help by trying her newest brandy.” 

Aramis laughed and a smile plastered his face as he remembered the beautiful blue eyes which had watched him yesterday, her hand in his hair, her lips had tasted like strawberries.  

“Right, but Philippe, her fiancé was not that delighted to see you helping her.” Porthos emphasised with a booming laughter.

“Well, yes it got a little heated.” Aramis looked embarrassed on the dirty floor next to Athos’ bed.

“Damn right, I had to help you and in the whole chaos we simply had no time to look after him.” Porthos murmured after he had removed Athos spoiled shirt and covered his friend’s body with a blanket.

“He stopped the man who tried to hit you with a bottle on your head.” Aramis quietly answered.

“And you from getting the innkeeper’s broom shoved into your stomach or even lower.” Porthos sighed.

“Yes, we were too distracted to clean up and pay our bill, this was the chance he used to leave the  _ Wren _ unnoticed, but he didn’t go away before making sure that the both of us were unharmed. You’ve asked me why we are helping him, that’s why. Others left, he stayed.” 

Aramis stated firmly and started to open the small window in the room and the door to let fresh air stream in it. Then he fetched a bucket with water and cleaned the remains of Athos’ vomit on the dirty floor.

Porthos nodded as he absent-mindedly stroked several strands from Athos’ forehead, while he finished cleaning the sleeping man’s face.

“I wish we could somehow help him. He’s a good swordfighter, if you ask me the best in whole France, no wonder that Tréville wanted him in his regiment, but he is so full of sorrow about something he cannot talk.” He sighed. “What can we do Aramis? If he continues like this, we can’t rescue him from himself.” His eyes wandered over to Aramis, who pulled his hand through his thick hair.

“We have to gain his trust and we need to encourage him to talk about what ails him.”

Porthos snorted aloud.

“Good luck with that. He is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met and the least talkative. Do you know why I’ve never dared to play cards with him?”

“No, but I can guess why, you can’t read his mind, like you can read mine.”

“Exactly, Aramis.”

“We have to be patient with him.” Aramis advised. “So who is now cleaning the stable, you or me …”  

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much Beth & Helen for proofreading this chapter xx Kira


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening from Europe! Hope it's a good one!  
> Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews so far.  
> Here is the next chapter. Not sure if I will be able to post during the weekend, but I'll give it a try. My thesis has suffered a little the past days and I need to re-write a major part.  
> Thank you so much to Helen for her help with some medical advice and thank you so much Beth for proofreading this chapter, all remaining mistakes are mine and not theirs!  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 3**

**⚔⚔**

A loud scream escaped Athos’ mouth when Aramis finally had his instruments with which he tried to dig for the bullet that was still in his lower abdomen.

“Porthos, Marsac, hold him down!”

Aramis shouted when he realised that Athos had started to move his legs and arms in order to get rid of the pulsing pain which burned in his belly.

Marsac reached for his legs, while Porthos held down his arms, leaning over him and whispering words of comfort in the injured man’s ear. He could see that Athos started to blink and he knew that he would wake up very soon. The incision that Aramis had cut in the skin to reach the pistol ball better, hadn’t woken him, but the digging with the sharp instruments had finally driven him back to consciousness.

“Aramis, hurry.” Porthos urged. “He’s waking up.”

“I wish I could, but the bullet keeps slipping away.”

“Can you see if any organs were hit?”

Marsac asked his voice sounded rueful. Even if he was critical about Athos’ drinking behaviour, he was a fellow Musketeer and he had sworn an oath to protect his comrades.

“Not yet, I need to pull open the skin further, to have a better look. It’s getting dark in here, can you bring me a candle and several blankets.” Aramis asked.

“But his legs …” Marsac asked, while he was still using all his strength to hold in injured man’s legs down.

“Don’t worry about that. I will talk to him.” Aramis said. Marsac looked at him sceptical. “Go.” Aramis ordered again, having the feeling that it would be better for his patient, if Marsac left for a while the room.

The other Musketeer nodded, let go of Athos’ legs and left to search for candles and blankets. Aramis could feel Athos’ legs and feet moving and he stopped what he was doing and looked up to his comrade’s face.

“Athos, can you hear me?”

He asked gently, but with a loud voice. The hurt man finally opened his eyes and looked confused around, blinking heavily.

“Wh …” He slurred, feeling suddenly sick and couldn’t stop himself from throwing up. “Si …” He gasped.

“Help me to roll him on his side.” Aramis ordered Porthos, who followed Aramis’ instructions, while stroking gently over Athos’ back.    

“Woah, that’s the third time that you have done this today.” He whispered in Athos’ ear.

“It’s because of his head injury. He’s probably concussed.” Aramis explained then he turned back towards his patient who was now heaving dry. “Porthos, can you give him some water to drink, but only a few sips?”

Porthos fetched a water flask, helped Athos to roll on his back again and gently lifted  his head, while putting the bottle to his lips.

“Here, drink.” He encouraged the sick man, who listened to him and took a few gulps.

“What … happened?” Athos asked exhausted while letting his head drop on Porthos’ jacket.

“What do you remember?” Aramis asked, while pressing again on the bleeding wound at his stomach in order to stop the blood floss.

“I should go with Marsac on the mission, after that everything is black.” Athos panted and squeezed his eyes shut. “Why, I’m in so much pain?” He asked confused.

That he admitted that he was feeling miserable was not a good sign and that he couldn’t remember the past hours, was even a worse sign. Aramis sighed inwardly.

“You were shot and the bullet is still in your stomach. I need to remove it, that’s what is hurting you so much.”

“How bad?” Athos whispered with his eyes closed and a new layer of sweat on his face.

“I don’t know yet. Alas, I have no pain draught with me.” Aramis gently explained.

“Do it, I want this bullet out of my body.”  

Athos pleaded Aramis while opening his eyes again. His green eyes, nearly changed into two black orbs through his enlarged pupils, were shimmering due to the pain and probably his body had already developed a temperature.

“It will hurt, can you manage to hold your legs still?” Aramis asked.

Athos nodded weakly, then he closed his eyes again. Porthos put his hand into Athos’ right hand and told him:

“Press my hand as hard as you can. I’ve been through this before, believe me it will help.”

“And scream, when you have to.” Aramis added. “The worst thing you can do is to oppress it. This will give me a sign when I have to stop.” He explained.

Porthos looked over to Aramis with his raised eyebrows and asked with only one look.

 _“Aramis, really?”_ While rolling with his eyes.

 _“Trust me!”_ Said Aramis’ glance towards him, while shrugging.

Next he continued his task. With the small long sharp instruments he dug again in Athos’ wound, when he could feel the metal of the bullet he finally used his long, but small fingers to grab for it and pull it out. Athos had endured the whole procedure without saying a word, while pressing his legs and feet on the wooden table, keeping his promise not to move. From time to time he had moaned and Porthos could feel the tight grip around his fingers, which grew more tense each time Aramis had to touch the wound, but Athos didn’t complain. Nevertheless when Aramis reached with his fingers in the open wound to remove the bullet Athos’ screamed out loud, his eyes he opened for a moment rolled back into his head, then his head lolled onto one side and he passed out.

“Thank God.” Porthos mumbled while feeling that Athos let his hand loose while his own fell limp on his chest.

“Can you feel his pulse?” Aramis asked while removing the small metal ball and throwing it onto the floor. Blood was dripping from his fingers.

“I can feel his heartbeat very fast, but at least I can feel it.” Porthos informed his brother while resting his big palm on Athos’ chest.

“It’s to be expected that it’ll beat faster.” Aramis mumbled while starting to go again into the wound with his instruments.

Porthos frowned.  


“What are you doing? I thought you just removed the bullet”

“A piece of cloth of his shirt has found its way into his stomach, I have to remove it as well or the chances are higher that the wound becomes infected.” After several seconds he shouted: “That’s it!”, and pulled it out with his fingers.

Porthos watched Athos’ closed eyes and he could hear his shallow breathing.  

“I don’t like his breathing.” He informed Aramis.

“Just observe it as long as he breathes it’s good.”

Marsac reappeared with blankets and a candle, which he now held next to Athos’ wound, so that Aramis could pull apart the skin and have a closer look into the wound.

“As far as I can see there haven’t been any organs injured.”   

Aramis said as sigh of relief escaped from his lips. “It seems that he was very lucky regarding the bullet wound.”

“Tell him this.” Porthos snorted, while gently stroking the hair of the unconscious man and feeling with his hand Athos’ temperature. “His forehead is sweaty but cool, Aramis.”

“His body seems to be in shock.” Aramis said to Porthos, giving Marsac a sign to help him furthermore. “I will clean the wound now with water and some alcohol and then I will stitch it. Afterwards I need to check him for further injuries.”

Aramis reached for a fresh cloth which Marsac had brought in the meantime and cleaned his hands. With the help of Marsac they went with fresh water and alcohol over the wound, then Aramis took thread and needle and started to sew the skin together.

Marsac and Porthos watched him in silence, when Aramis had finished his sewing he secured the thread, then cut the rest and probed with his fingers to see if the stitches would hold.

“Do you think the cut on his temple needs stitches, too?” Porthos asked. The spot was still bleeding and he now busied himself by pressing another fresh cloth on the spot, which Marsac had given to him.  

“I will have a look, but first I have to bandage this wound. Keep pressure on it.” Aramis turned towards Marsac. “I need some more alcohol.”

A short smile appeared on Marsac’s mouth and he was about to say a funny joke regarding Athos and alcohol, but when he saw the dangerous glare from Porthos towards him, who had read his thoughts, he decided to keep it to himself.

“That was all I could retrieve from your saddle bag, Aramis.” He shrugged apologetically.

“Check Athos’ saddlebag.” Porthos ordered and Marsac left again.

With the rest of the alcohol Aramis still had to clean Athos’ wounds, he wiped over the stitched skin again and then with Porthos’ help he started to bandage Athos’ lower abdomen.  Porthos was holding Athos in an upright position, the latter was moaning but didn’t show any signs of waking up, while the medic wrapped the bandage in a firm but not too tight movement around his lower body.

“Now we can only pray that the wound doesn’t get infected.” Aramis sighed.

“Are you sure that no organs were hurt?” Porthos asked slightly scared.

“No, he was very lucky, the bullet went into his torso directly above his left hip bone and was stopped by it. If it had dug deeper it would have caused permanent damage and we wouldn’t be able to save him.” Aramis shuddered, realising how close it had been that Athos would have died and he still wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Porthos sighed relieved, guilt was now plastered over his whole face. He already wanted to lie Athos back on the table, but Aramis stopped him.

“Wait, I can easier check him for broken or bruised ribs when you are holding him like this. The fall from the stairs could have caused that.”

With his hands he gently felt over both sides of Athos’ back first.

“All ribs seems to be intact.” Aramis said. “You can lie him down again.” Porthos gently helped to manhandle Athos. A whimper escaped the injured man’s mouth.

“Is he waking up again?”

“I can’t say for sure.” Porthos bent more closer over Athos’ pale face, but the lids of his eyes stayed closed.    

Aramis felt now with his hands and fingers over the ribcage on Athos’ front. He could feel the fast beating heart under his palm when he reached the middle section and he estimated that Athos was in shock. He pressed down on one side and Athos moaned out loud again.

“That’s not a good sign.” Porthos assumed.

“No, it’s not. He has two bruised ribs, here.” Aramis pointed with his fingers at two spots on Athos’ chest. “But they are at least not broken. We’ll have to bandage them too.”

While Aramis stepped away from the table to prepare new bandages from cloth he could wrap around Athos’ torso, Porthos looked at Athos’ rising and falling chest. His glance rested on a small silver object which was lying on his chest and lifted each time Athos’ breathed in. He knew that the swordsman was wearing a chain around his neck, but he hadn’t noticed deliberate the small round pendant before, which the man was hiding under his shirt. He knew it would be in the way when they had to bandage his ribs and so he gently removed it from Athos’ neck and laid it next to the injured soldier.  

Aramis had finished preparing the bandages and again Porthos helped to lift the sick man’s upper body, while Aramis wrapped a new layer of bandages around Athos bruised ribs fixing the end of the bandage with a tight knot.

“Cover him with blankets, he’s very cold, we need to warm him up. I will have a look at his head injury now.”

They changed positions. The medic stepped now behind Athos’ head while Porthos softly covered their patient with several blankets.

Aramis examined Athos’ scalp for any hidden injury, driving his hands through Athos thick and curly hair, but besides the cut on the temple he couldn’t feel any bumps. Then he concentrated on the head wound. The bleeding had stopped finally.

“It won’t require stitches, but another bandage.” Aramis stated firmly.

With the cognac Marsac had found in Athos’ saddlebag, wondering how he could buy this expensive alcohol, Aramis cleaned the wound. Again he wiped water off the wound as well. He asked Marsac to fix the bandage, while he gently hold his patient’s head. When Athos started to moan and toss around, he gently stroked over his hair to give him some comfort and it worked. Athos calmed again. Porthos vanished only to reappear with a second shirt he had had in his saddlebag.

“Let’s move him over to this sofa. It’s not that hard. Aramis nodded agreeingly.

“It’s a good idea.”

Then the three of them started to manhandle their fourth man a last time. Porthos carefully put him his new shirt on and then Marsac and him carried Athos over to the settee, which was covered by an old linen they removed. Aramis helped him out of his boots, using the time to check for a sprained ankle or a broken foot, but for once Athos had been lucky. Then he wrapped him in two warm blankets and rested his palm on his chest feeling that the heartbeat had slowed down a little.

“We need to bring him back to the garrison, but he won’t be able to ride. We need a wagon.” Aramis stated firmly.

“I haven’t seen a wagon outside.” Marsac informed them.

“Have you found the jewels?” Porthos asked, if not we will have to check the dead corpse on the second floor.” He added.

“Yes, we have found them. Athos assumed right, they had put them in their saddlebags.” Marsac said. “What a day.” He looked at the unconscious man. “I will ride back to Paris and organise help.” He then said.

“If you’re bringing the diamonds back maybe it’s better if you don’t ride on your own. Remember Tréville’s command. Never ride on your own if possible.”

“No, I’ll leave the jewelry with you. Athos will need both of you in order to survive.” Marsac mumbled. “Besides I won’t ride dressed as a Musketeer. Anyway I am not sure when I can bring you help. It’s getting dark already.” Marsac looked outside of one window seeing heavy rain and thunder clouds now chasing over the sky and covering the blue summer sky. It had been hot all day long.

“The ride to this château took us about three hours and we rode fast.” Porthos concurred.

“I will ride as fast as I can, but it will be Tréville’s decision when to send the wagon. If I were to guess I would say that he will send it at first light.”

“So see you tomorrow morning, Marsac.”    

Aramis walked over to him and clapped him on his shoulder. “Make haste, but take good care of you, too. One injured Musketeer is enough for today.”

“Make sure he survives or our Captain will be devasted.” Marsac mocked and left.

“Of course it had to come.” Porthos said to Aramis, when they were alone. “I’m glad Athos didn’t hear him.” He angrily left Athos’ side and followed Marsac.

“Where are you going?” Aramis shouted after him, while still fussing over his patient.

“Taking hold of the jewels and talking some sense into Marsac. I’m so tired of this.” He said.

“We cannot change him.” Aramis sighed. “And about Athos I’m not so sure, I think he is waking up.”

Aramis smiled at his patient who obviously tried to open his eyes. Several seconds later two half-open green eyes looked confused at the ceiling of the large room, they had brought him into. Aramis observed the injured Musketeer more closely. He had a distant look in his eyes filled with confusion and pain. His lips were brittle and slightly bluish what was a sign of shock. Cool sweat was covering not only his forehead where several brown strands were wildly plastered, but his whole face. His natural skin type was pale, but now he looked even paler.

Once again Aramis wondered about this skilled swordsman, who had entered his and Porthos live several months ago. They were about the same age. Maybe one, two years difference. Aramis suspected that he was from a noble family, who had left home after an argument, but he wasn’t sure about Athos’ past.

The young man was polite and obeyed orders, when he was not drunk, which was sadly much too often the case. At first he had thought that he didn’t really want to be at the garrison. Saving Tréville’s life* had somehow gained him the trust of their Captain and their commanding officer had decided that he needed to save this young man from himself in offering him a job first as a sword instructor, but forcing him later more and more to the decision to become a Musketeer.

To their all astonishment Athos had listened to Tréville and accepted his advice to join the Musketeers. The hard work as a soldier didn’t seem to bother him. He had an incredible talent to hide his emotions and facial expressions, when he didn’t want to show them to anybody else. Athos was not the talking type.

They were completely different. Aramis loved to talk, to joke around, to give compliments, to laugh out loud, but that Athos worked in silence next to him didn’t bother him. What bothered him was that this man must have endured such a trauma in his still young life that had made him to never laugh.   

    When other recruits had started to make fun of Athos’ drinking problems, Tréville had called Porthos and Aramis in his office. He had noticed that both of them had treated Athos with respect, valuing his sword skills, his honesty and politeness. He had asked them or better commanded them to keep an eye on his latest recruit.

At first Porthos had tried to protest, but soon he had sympathy with the obviously sick man, because of the way the other soldiers treated him. It had reminded him of his own hard start in another regiment as a soldier, before he had met Tréville and was commissioned as a Musketeer. Aramis’ natural skill for trying to go along with everybody had helped too and soon their newest task had been to follow the lonely and taciturn man, when he tried to steal himself away in the evening or at night in a shabby tavern.     

In the past weeks Aramis had learned more and more about Athos. The way he could think strategically, the way he managed to teach patiently or the way he listened attentively when Porthos or he explained something to him. He didn’t need to know about Athos’ past. He could see that Athos would be a good Musketeer and he hoped to call him one day a friend.

The medic was driven out of his thoughts when he heard a noise. Athos tried to speak but all that left his mouth was a soft whimper and an undefinable rasp.

“Welcome back.” Aramis whispered in his patient’s ear. “Wait I’ll give you something to drink.” He gently helped the still confused man to rise his head and pressed a water flask to his lips.

Athos gulped greedily, but felt dizzy and gave with his hand a sign to Aramis that he had had enough. Gently Aramis let his head back on the armrest of the sofa, where Porthos had put his jacket, not the softest pillow, but a gentle gesture, which showed how much the big Musketeer cared for their injured comrade.

Athos didn’t speak but watched with his now wide open eyes each move Aramis made. Finally he tired to say something.

“Whe …” He slurred, his voice still weak and being evidence that Athos must be in immediate pain.

“At a château.” Aramis wondered how much the head injury was affecting Athos’ memory.

“Nooo …” Athos gasped now becoming slightly agitated and trying it again. “Where … Por …”

“Oh, you mean where Porthos is?” Aramis understood, wondering if Athos now could remember more, which would be a good sign.

“He’s outside with Marsac.” Aramis quietly explained. The answer seemed to calm Athos again.

“How do you feel?”   

He asked while putting some water on a fresh cloth and now starting to sponge his brother’s face. Athos endured it, without protesting. The reaction was somehow anew from what Aramis knew about Athos, who detested to be touched. Another sign how miserable he must feel.

“So … tired …” Athos barely audible answered.

“Any immense pain?” Aramis asked further.

Athos closed his eyes and Aramis already thought that he’d fallen asleep again, but the injured man gulped and forced himself to open his eyes and answered:

“My stomach ... hurts ... but less …” He tried to reach with his hand the wound, which Aramis had stitched several minutes ago. Aramis stopped it with his own squeezing it gently after he had cleaned Athos’ face of all the sweat.

“I could remove the bullet and some fabric of cloth from the wound. I had to make an incision in your skin to have a better look it, but now the wound is closed with several stitches. You were very lucky.” Aramis softly explained. Not letting go of Athos’ cold hand and trying to warm it.

“My head … hurts …” Athos added suddenly.

“You hit it on the stairs, when you slid them down.” Aramis explained and Athos furrowed his brows and stared confused at him.

“What … happened …?” He asked dazed.

Aramis sat down next to him on the small settee and stroked gently some strands away which were hanging in his eyes.

“You were shot and tumbled down the stairs backwards. Besides a wound on your temple and that hole in your stomach you have two bruised ribs.”

“Oh …” Athos mumbled his eyelids already flickering showing Aramis that Athos would soon lose consciousness again.

“Try to rest. We will take you home in the morning.”

Aramis gently stroked over Athos’ hair and the injured man leaned into his comforting touch. Another new gesture he had never seen Athos doing before, but it was a sign that the new Musketeer was trusting him and he was grateful for this new observation.

“I’m … sorry …” Athos slurred, before losing his fight against oblivion.

“Don’t be sorry, just promise me to survive.” Aramis whispered in his comrade’s ear, but the other man didn’t hear him anymore.  

**_To be continued ..._ **


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading & reviewing!  
> Here is the next chapter.  
> Warning: This chapter contains some gruesome scenes, so if you don't like to read scenes like that, you better leave this one out.  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 4**

**⚔⚔**

**_In the meantime outside of the château_ **

“Marsac wait!” Porthos shouted.

The other Musketeer turned his head around. He was standing near the stables busying himself with two saddlebags, which were filled with expensive stones.

“No worries, I had planned to bring the jewels back inside before leaving.”

“I’m not worried about that, I know that you are following the orders of the Captain.” Porthos told him with a cool voice. “But talking bad about a fellow Musketeer whose lying in there and fighting for his life, that’s dishonourable. Shame on you!” He shouted now and locked eyes with Marsac while he was pointing with his finger towards Marsac’s chest.

“Oh come on Porthos, one day this drunkard will endanger us all with his wish to die. Can’t you see that?” Marsac shouted back. “He wasn’t fit for duty this morning. See what happened. It could be you, Aramis or me now lying dead there, because he wasn’t honest to us about being well enough to ride along.”

“Woah, Athos saved my life, he jumped in front of a bullet that was meant for me.” Porthos pressed his hands on his hips.

“He has a death wish, Porthos, can’t you see that?” Marsac shouted back, while still checking the saddlebags.

“He has not … he just did what we all have vowed for, to protect each other.” Pothos stated firmly, trying to talk some sense in the noble man.

“Porthos, you have such a good heart. You listen to everybody, you try to help them, but one day this will be your downfall.” Marsac hissed angrily.

“I can’t see what’s wrong in helping a new Musketeer to find his own place in the regiment?” Porthos frowned and raised his eyebrows.

“So, you do think that he was fit for duty this morning? You sounded and behaved differently after morning muster. You stormed angrily in Tréville’s office.”

“True, he has his problems, but show me one of us Musketeers, who hasn’t.” Porthos tried to explain, but Marsac wasn’t ready to listen and only rolled annoyed his eyes.

“You and Aramis, you should know that you cannot save the whole world, you cannot rescue everybody.”

“No, I cannot, but I can try, when I see a man and comrade who needs my help, I don’t look away.” Porthos told him.

“See, that’s why you’re so willingly traded him with me, when Tréville ordered Athos to ride with me and you with Aramis.”

“What do you mean, now?”

Porthos shrugged, while knowing exactly why he had offered to team up with Athos. Marsac would have teased and bullied Athos all the way to the château and the suffering man didn’t need that on this day. He could imagine that the stoic man had still to deal with a massive headache, even if he tried to hide it. His bloodshot eyes and paler face than usual had been too obvious for him.

“Learn to treat your fellow Musketeers with respect, Marsac.” Porthos growled.

But the other man only laughed out loud. Porthos realised that it was useless to talk to Marsac and they were losing precious time in saving Athos’ life. The streetfighter tried to calm himself. For a moment he thought about how he had found Athos that morning, how they had helped him and how he acted that afternoon.

Of course Athos had had a horrible hangover all morning long, but around noon he had been better. He didn’t know that much about Athos yet, but he was sure that he wouldn’t lie to their Captain after being asked directly if he was up to riding with the others or not. Athos valued the old fox highly.

On the contrary he had witnessed Athos the whole afternoon. His ideas had made sense and his fast reaction had saved his life. When Athos hadn’t had his back he would now be in his position or even a worse position, because the raider had aimed directly at the middle of his chest. The swordsman even had mentioned that the traces of four horses didn’t mean naturally that there were only four riders who had attacked the carriage and the rich salesman from the Netherlands with diamonds for the King. He could still hear Athos voice, when they had examined the robbed carriage more closely:

_“The traces of four horses doesn’t mean that there are only four riders. Two men can ride on a horse.”_

Thinking about it the swordsman had knelt in the mud and wondered if one of the horse’ traces were imprinted deeper in the soft ground than the others. Marsac had wiped his thoughts with a cynical saying away.

“You have no idea what you are talking about.” Porthos stated angrily. “Do me a favour ride as fast as you can and fetch help.” He added.

“I’ll try my best. Here.” Marsac chucked him the saddlebags with the jewels, then he mounted his horse and left shouting behind him. “There’s a reason why so many Musketeers and recruits are avoiding Athos, I warn you, watch your back.”

Porthos shook his head in disapproval over Marsac’s words.

_Aramis was right, I can’t change him … He treated me like dirt when I first joined the regiment and wanted to gain a commission. It has changed, because now he has someone else he can speak badly about. For sure his behaviour means trouble. Perhaps me or Aramis should go after him to make sure, that he will really make haste and inform the Captain._

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Six hours earlier_ **

Around midday they finally left the garrison on their horses. From the _Rue du Bac_ to a bridge near _Notre-Dame_ and then back towards _le Louvre_. It was a ten minute ride. Athos had stayed silent while riding in the middle of Aramis on his left and Porthos on his right side. From time to time the seasoned Musketeers threw themselves questioning looks, wondering if Athos was really fit for duty or if it had been a mistake to take him with them. Aramis could have easily decided against it. As the medic of the Musketeers he had an agreement with Tréville that he sometimes was allowed to act against his orders, when he feared for the health and well being of a Musketeer.

Athos seemed to have improved after several hours of sleep, another cold water bath for his head, which he seemed to do on a regular basis, putting his head down in a basket full of cold water for half a minute. For the medic, who preferred to wash his hair with supplementing some rosewater it would have been a torment, but for the swordsman it seemed his way to get rid of his hangover. Athos didn’t talk much but thanked them both for helping him back to his quarters and bringing him food and water to his rickety table next to his bed.

_“I owe you.”_

Athos had mumbled, his look lowered, avoiding meeting their eyes. An obvious sign that he felt ashamed that he hadn’t been able to fulfill the Captain’s command earlier.

_“Are you sure, you can ride and serve as palace guard today?”_

Aramis had asked cautiously and after Athos had managed to stand and walk on his own without swaying he accepted that as an answer and they left the garrison to the palace.

“How has the Captain reacted?” Athos suddenly asked in a low voice, when they nearly had reached the _Lion’s Gate_ of _le Louvre._

“He was not pleased and if I were you I would prepare to be shouted at.” Porthos quietly said knowing that the head of the swordsman would not bode well to too loud sounds.

“He wants to talk to you.” Aramis added in the same volume.

“Hmm …” Was everything Athos answered.

When they reached the gate Marsac and some other Musketeers were already waiting for them.

“Oh look, who’s finally awake.” Marsac teased talking towards Aramis and ignoring Porthos and Athos. Then he continued with a melodic voice and a loud laughter. “He must come to the Captain, at once.” Again he didn’t look at Athos.

“He has a name.” Porthos growled now angrily.

Athos looked over to Pothos and with a sign of his hand and one of his famous stares he gave Porthos to understand that Marsac wasn’t worth it to start an argument or a fight.

“Then I shall go, gentlemen.” Athos said firm.

He dismounted from his horse and led it to a stable boy who was waiting in front of the royal stables. He tossed him a coin and paused then. Marsac hadn’t said where he would find the Captain. _Le Louvre_ was huge and if the King had decided to go in the garden he could be there, too.

Aramis who noticed that Athos was hesitating stepped next to him.

“He should be in the garden. I’ll come with you.” He gently laid his arm on Athos’ back and guided him away from Marsac and his loud laughter.

“I should have asked earlier.” Athos mumbled. “Tréville said something at morning muster, but I have not concentrated. I have to apol …”

“Stop it.” Aramis chided him without any anger in the voice. “To be honest I am still astonished that you didn’t drop like a stone on the courtyard floor. I was standing next to you.”

“He’ll be furious.” Athos mumbled now, his head still bowed, his eyes directed at the floor as though he was searching for something.

“You will survive.” Aramis encouraged him. “He’s been furious with me many times.”

“I’ve disappointed him.” Athos added.

Aramis looked astonished at the man next to him. He never had heard Athos talking like this before. Giving away so much information about his feelings. Of course he could have blamed the alcohol that Athos suddenly started to talk with him, but he had the feeling that it had more to do with the fact why he had stolen himself away last night in order to drink himself nearly to death.

“I think he is more concerned about you Athos, and not only him, Porthos and I are too. What happened yesterday?” He tried to ask, but the young Musketeer already retreated into his shell and stayed silent again.

Aramis sighed and looked at the red rimmed eyes caused from the alcohol abuse and he imagined to see some sadness in them.

“When you want to talk about it, you know I’m always there to listen, my friend.”

He locked eyes with his comrade and the still pale man only nodded gratefully. They finally reached Tréville and stood both at ease, while their commanding officer was still in a conversation with Cardinal Richelieu. When the clergyman left he turned around to both of his soldiers.

With his bright blue eyes he stared at Athos, who now looked directly at him, waiting for a loud shout. But it didn’t come at first.

“I’ve seen you in a better state of health yesterday, what happened?” Tréville softly asked and Athos ruefully looked at the concrete. “Look at me, Athos! What happened?” Tréville now ordered a little louder.

“I have to apologise, Captain.” Athos doffed his hat from his head and held it tight in his hands. “I’ve got drunk.” He looked ashamed into Tréville’s eyes.

“Why?” Tréville asked quietly.

“My past came hunting me.”

Athos seemed to have thought long about his answer and the words which he was ready to tell. Tréville sighed inwardly. He knew he wouldn’t hear more about Athos’ past. He had tried to find out more about his newest Musketeer, but the man was too secretive about his past, such as if he feared he would die, when he talked about it.

Tréville recognised some other Musketeers approaching them and he knew that he now had to act as their Commanding officer. For him always was important to hear someone first out and then judge, but sometimes his temper came in the way with that. Not in this case, when he changed now the volume of his voice from quiet to loud he used it deliberately to express his disagreement about Athos’ behaviour.

“You should feel ashamed, Athos. As a Musketeer you have to follow orders and serve the King, how do you suppose to do this, when you are even too drunk to walk?” Tréville shouted angrily, walking some steps towards his young Musketeer, his pale blue eyes staring in Athos’ green. The young man didn’t look away, but endured the angry glance.

“I’m sorry, Captain.” Athos answered. “I accept whatever you ask from me and if it does mean I have to give my commission back, I will do that too. I was a disgrace to your regiment.” Athos said in a firm voice.

The reddish eyes which were now looking at Tréville gave away how sad the young man would be if he had to leave. Rarely he had seen Athos in this state and he assumed that the alcohol still hampered him to hide his feelings behind his usual indifferent mask. The Captain of the Musketeers was slightly taken aback, because Athos offered to give back his commission. He didn’t want to lose this young man, his talent as a swordsman and as a strategical thinker. He saw something in Athos, which the young man probably wasn’t aware of that he had it. The man was a born soldier and a born leader. He was certain with some more experience he would be able to lead men to war one day.

“Do you really honour your commission so less?” Tréville shouted angrily.

“No, Captain, quite the contrary. But if I am not worthy for ...” He tried to explain himself, but Tréville interrupted him.

“Then act like a Musketeer!” Tréville shouted and Athos straightened his back and looked again in Tréville’s face. “Are you fit for duty?” He added next in the same loud tone.

“Yes I am.” Athos stated firmly feeling his head aching.

“Are you sure, because if you are not, you can endanger our King, your brothers-in-arms and the whole Musketeer regiment.” Tréville carefully watched him.

“Captain, I would tell you, if I’m not fit. I apologise for my behaviour last night and this morning.”

Tréville nodded and then looked over to the medic.

“Aramis?”

“He’s slept for several hours and has eaten something. He’s fit for duty, I am certain.”

“You had better be.” Tréville mumbled, while thanking his medic with a nod. “Come, this evening to my office and I will give you an extra task. For now you will accompany me to the throne hall. King Louis expects some courtiers and you need to help me in listening carefully what they have to say.”

“Yes, Sir!” Athos answered.

Tréville turned again to Aramis.

“Where’s Porthos?”

“Waiting with other Musketeers at the Lion’s gate.”

“Then you both should fetch them as well for palace guard.”

Aramis hurried away, followed by Athos, who had put his hat on again and nearly pushed it over his eyes, to protect his hurting head from the burning sun. He didn’t notice the worried glance that Tréville gazed after him anymore. His head was still pounding and he felt as if billions of heavy raindrops were falling on his scalp at the same time.

 _What’s wrong with you Athos? What has happened to you that you feel so desperate to drown your sorrows? I hope my plan will work out, Aramis and Porthos are good soldiers and brothers, they will help you._ Tréville thought.

“It could have been worse.” Athos stated after Tréville was out of their earshot.

“I told you.” Aramis smiled at him.

“Guess I have to do stable duty for the rest of my life.” The swordsman mumbled and Aramis chuckled.

“Or you have to offer all your precious alcohol bottles as a gift to our Captain.”

Aramis laughed, knowing the very moment that Athos needed that little banter to ease the tense atmosphere. He earned a nonverbal glare from the swordsman and wasn’t sure what it meant either, he was now angry or embarrassed, but he had never expected the next move from the new Musketeer.

“Thank you, Aramis, for having my back today. It means a lot.”

“You would have done the same for me.” Aramis smiled at him.

Athos stayed silent again, when they came in ear’s and eye’s reach of Porthos and Marsac the young man put on his typical mask of indifference on his face and tried to ignore the tirade which would come from Marsac the very next minute. The Musketeer was already opening his mouth and started to say: “I could hear him shouting …” when loud noises, frightened screams of people and horses echoed in the courtyard of the Lion’s gate. They could hear shots being fired.

Athos ignored Marsac’s stupid talk, his left hand on a pistol in his belt the right hand on the tilt of his sword he rushed forwards to see what was going on. Porthos followed him directly behind.

“There’s an attack going on!” Athos turned around and shouted at the other Musketeers who were following him. “Some of us have to take care of the safety of the King.”

Aramis turned around and ran back towards the palace, knowing that Athos was right.

“Marsac with me.” He shouted and the long man hurried behind him with some more Musketeers.

In the meantime Porthos and Athos had reached the outside of the gate, which lead into the walls of the palace. Chaos was surrounding them and Athos couldn’t see who had shot. Suddenly Athos could sense Tréville next to him a pistol in his hand.

“What’s going on?” The Captain asked.

“Seems like an attack outside of the gates. I heard a carriage.” Athos informed him. “I don’t know more about it.”

They ran towards the place where the loud noises were coming from. A group of curious people had gathered around a carriage, while others came towards them fleeing from an obviously grue scene. Athos pushed himself through the people to have a better look. He could hear Porthos loud voice shouting “King’s Musketeer’s” and asking what happened.

Athos didn’t need to ask he had finally reached the carriage where two frightened horses screamed in agony a man on top of the carriage tried to calm them. The door to the carriage was opened. Athos could see a man lying on the dirty floor, his legs still in the carriage, the rest of his body on the street. His face was pressed in the dust. He had a bullet hole in his chest, where blood was seeping from. He crouched over the man to check if he was still alive, but the fingers of his left hand couldn’t find a pulse at his neck.

“He’s dead.” He stated. “From the look of his clothes he seems to be a rich foreigner.” He added.

Porthos turned around to the crowd and started asking some witnesses about what they had seen. Most people shook their heads. Athos stepped in the meantime nearer to the carriage and looked into it. For a moment he had to close his eyes. With a deep breath and suppressing throwing up for the third time this day he stepped into the carriage. A young boy was sitting like he was asleep still at one seat. But his eyes were lifeless and from a wound on his head there was seeping blood. He gently closed the eyes of the child with his fingers, then he stumbled out of the carriage.

“There’s a dead boy in there.”

He mumbled when Tréville stepped next to him seeing the horror which for a brief moment gave him way. Athos pulled himself together, he walked over to the man who was fighting to calm the horses, obviously a driver. When he turned around he could see another dead man on the other side of the carriage.

“What happened here?” He addressed the coachman.

“My master,” the man pointed at the dead man Athos had seen first “was shot”, while he wanted to depart and go over to the gate to announce his arrival. We were ambushed.

“Why?” Porthos now stepped next to Athos.

“They robbed us, my master had jewels for the King.”

“Where are you from?” Tréville now wanted to know.

“My master is from the Netherlands. He hired me and poor Charles,” he pointed at the other dead man, when he arrived by boat in _Le Havre_. “He was on his way back from England. At least that’s what he told me.”

Athos stepped next to the two frightened horses and tried to calm them with talking soothing words to them and it seemed to work.

“How many people have attacked you?” He asked.

“I can’t say for sure, three or more.” The man now stumbled. “They knew what we were

carrying. When the Monsieur wanted to departe with his boy, my God, how’s the boy?” The man cried putting his hand over his mouth and started now to tremble.

“I’m sorry, he’s dead.” Tréville quietly confirmed with a grim look in his eyes, which gave the driver the rest and he started to cry heavily.

Athos tried to ignore the emotional breakout as best as he could and asked again:

“So when your master wanted to leave the carriage they started their attack.”

“Yes.” The man sobbed.

“Could you identify them? Have you somehow fought back?” Porthos asked.

“No, they were wearing black cloths over their faces, you could only see their eyes.” The man shook his head, while wiping the tears from his face with his arm.

“So, you didn’t fight back, when the first shots were fired?” Athos asked.

“No, I was busy trying to calm the horses, but Charles, yes he fired his pistol. That’s why they shot him too. Stupid Charles, if he ...” He paused and was gripped by another fit of tears. “What shall I tell his wife …”

Athos left the driver behind, he looked around and walked up and down in front of the carriage. In the mud of the street he could see the traces of horse hooves and further down the street he spotted a white handkerchief with blood on it. He walked over to it and could see more blood traces. Curiously he followed the blood trace. Porthos who noticed that Athos spotted something followed him. There were now enough other Musketeers with their Captain, even Marsac and Aramis had returned after making sure that there hadn’t been any immediate threat to the King and Queen.

Athos still followed the blood traces, turned around several corners and found a wounded man, who was leaning with his back at the stonewall of a well. His eyes partly closed and flickering, the man was moaning, while pressing his hands at a wound on his leg. Athos bent down over the injured man and searched him for weapons.

“Where are they? Who has ordered you to assault this salesman?” He asked.

“Go away.” He injured man growled and screamed then in pain.

“We can fetch a doctor for you, but first you need to talk.”

Porthos told him, stepping now next to the wounded man, while Athos tried to stop the bleeding wound by pressing his hands on the man’s thigh. The stranger slid down the stonewall of the well, barely responsive he was now lying on the hard concrete.

“They have left you to die. We can help you, so talk. Who’s behind this? Have you a secret place to meet if something goes wrong?” Athos asked.

The man gasped for air having obviously breathing difficulties.

“Fetch Aramis, fast.” Athos told Porthos and the other man wondered for the first time, when Athos had become this competent soldier, who was giving him orders, but he didn’t mind.

The swordsman bent over the dying man.

“Come on, talk to me, you don’t want to die like this.”

“There’s an … empty château … east of Paris … three hours … away … horse ...”

Aramis now came running and approached the dying man, kneeling next to Athos. He looked over the man and could see blood dripping from his mouth. He shared a short glance with Athos that told the swordsman that they could do no more for the man.

“There you planned to meet?” Athos asked.

“Yesss …” The man slurred breathing now erratic. “Should … easy … job … no … kill …” He gasped.

“How many of you?” Athos asked.

“Ffff …”

“Four or five?” Athos tried it again, but he received no answer.

The man had now closed his eyes, but Athos continued his questioning.

“There is a dead boy.” He shouted now angrily. “Who has ordered you? Who is behind this?”

He received no answer, the man’s head rolled back, he trembled slightly, then his whole body went limp and he died, while his body slipped onto the ground. Athos seemed to be as though in a trance not realising that the injured man had died he tried again.

“Do you have the name of the château?”

Athos asked in a commanding tone hoping to get more clues about the people who committed this dreadful deed. Aramis laid a hand on Athos’ shoulder.

“He cannot hear you anymore. He’s dead.” He softly explained.

Athos finally let go and stumbled exhaustedly back on his feet, wiping his now bloody hands on a cloth Porthos handed him.

“Do you know an abandoned château, east of Paris, about three hours from here by horse?” He asked Porthos and Aramis.

“I’ve heard about a Comte who died last year who had no relatives. His château is falling into ruin. It could be worth looking there.” Porthos said.

“We have to go back to the Captain.” Aramis said.

They returned, informed their Captain and the other Musketeers, who were standing around and told people to move on, about what they had discovered so far.

“So an abandoned castle and the number four or five is everything you could find out?” Marsac asked Athos his voice somehow reproachful such as if he wanted to say what a novice.

Tréville stopped him.

“It’s better than nothing.”  

Athos was standing again near the carriage and looked at the imprints of the horse hooves around it.

“I can count four horses, but these traces of hooves are deeper imprinted than the others, so if I have to guess we are searching for five men not for four, who are dangerous and didn’t hesitate to kill even a child.” He stood up.

“I have talked with some witnesses. Those who saw the attack are all saying they have counted five men, with one man dead, there are only four left. Don’t imagine signs you cannot read.” Marsac added and looked challenging at Athos.

“Enough, Marsac!” Tréville shouted angrily. “The jewels were delivered from the King of England to our King. It’s our duty to find the raiders, arrest them and to find these expensive stones.” He added.

“It’s worth looking in that château. Maybe they plan to meet there with their employer to deliver the diamonds.” Aramis thought aloud.

Tréville nodded.

“Alright. Aramis team up with Porthos and you Marsac with Athos, follow those thieves. Make haste and bring the spoils back to Paris and be careful those men are dangerous.”

Marsac threw Athos an angry glare but didn’t protest against the Captain’s order, while the swordsman was already running behind Aramis and Porthos to retrieve their horses from the royal stable.

“If we ride fast we can reach the _château_ in under three hours.” Porthos shouted over his shoulder.

Tréville looked critically after the four Musketeers who he had just ordered to follow those raiders. The King would be furious when he found out about what just had happened. Exhausted he drew his hand over his face while feeling his pounding head and wondering if it was such a good idea to send Athos on this mission. Was he really well enough and fit for duty?

He wasn’t blind, he could see how Marsac had been treating Athos now for the past weeks and he didn’t like it. Albeit he had wondered why Athos hadn’t fought him back yet? Something let him hesitate to do so and he wasn’t sure what it was. Musketeers should be able to trust each other. He hoped teaming both of them up would help to settle things between them, but he couldn’t stop asking himself if the decision, he had given Marsac and Athos, had been a big mistake.

**_To be continued ..._ **


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there,  
> here is ch 5. I had to work over my ch 7 and now have split it up into two chapters, so the ff will have in a total 12 chapters. Right now I try to update on a daily basis, but I am not sure how I will manage during the week.  
> Thank you so much for reading and of course I always love to read your positive reviews!  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 5**

**⚔⚔**

 

 

“How is he?” Porthos asked Aramis.

“Sleeping for now, but he is very cold, shivering and the movement through his whole body must hurt him even while he is sleeping.”

Porthos put the two saddlebags with the jewels on the table where Aramis had performed surgery on Athos, but ignored its contents, instead he watched the rising and falling of Athos’ chest a sign that he was still alive.

“Marsac is on his way back to the garrison, but I’m not sure if he will be hurrying as we would. Perhaps I should follow him. He needs a doctor and pain medication to heal properly.” Porthos said quietly. Then he moved nearer to Athos, looked for a chair and sat next to his ailing comrade who was whimpering in his sleep.

Gently he put his hand on Athos’ arm and the young man calmed again.

“Marsac will ride as fast as we would, don’t worry. He knows that it’s urgent.”

“I didn’t form that impression.” Porthos sighed.

“He may not like Athos for obvious reasons, but he will fetch help as soon as possible. I’m sure.”

“What makes you think that?” Porthos frowned.

“Marsac acts out of fear. He dreads the wrath of the Captain if Tréville finds out that he hasn’t done everything he could to help.”

“Oh … I don’t see it like that.”

“Marsac is a good soldier, listening to Treville’s orders, but he can be complicated sometimes.” Aramis sighed.

“You mean when he bullies, Athos?” Porthos snorted. “Why can’t he simply leave him alone?”

“Because he fears him, in his eyes Athos constitutes a threat to him.”

“How?” Porthos frowned. “Athos tries to keep his distance as best as he can, he never provokes him, well you know, he speaks so little, it’s hard for him to provoke anybody, except he uses this special glare ...” He snorted.

“He sees Athos’ talent, his capabilities and they are both from noble families. So sooner or later Athos will have the chance to become an officer in the regiment and Marsac wants to become one.”   

“Has Athos told you that he is from a noble family?” Porthos had heard Aramis talking about Athos’ background for the first time.

“No, he hasn’t. It’s only my assumption, but the way how he talks, the way how he behaves and listens to orders, he even knows how to stay invisible at court. The signs are more than evident that Athos is from a noble family. It’s not unusual that noble men are joining the regiment of the King’s Musketeers, in many cases it’s the sons of noblemen who were born as the second, third or fourth child.” Aramis added.

“I know that. I can at least name over ten men, Philippe …”

“I know that you know, Porthos, but other than them I think that Athos was the first born son.” Aramis interrupted Porthos.

“What? This does mean that he would inherit …” Porthos mumbled and looked into Athos’ pale face. “I would have never guessed that.”

“I could be wrong, but the more I watch him, how he acts with confidence, the more I hear him speaking with someone who has had a much higher education than me, I think he was prepared one day to be a Comte or Duke.” Aramis added.

“This man is a riddle to me. If I had to be one day a Comte, I wouldn’t leave my home.”

“You never know that.” Aramis smiled at Porthos. “Something must have happened, something that has to do with his heavy drinking. I don’t know what, but it made him to leave his home and come to Paris.”

“Do you think the Captain knows more about his past?” Porthos asked curiously.

“I think the Captain is investigating Athos background but he would never tell us.”

A loud moan from Athos let both men fall silent. Aramis reached for a wet cloth and gently wiped a new layer of sweat from Athos’ face.

“Athos needs you, Porthos. So please stay.”

“You are the medic, Aramis, he will need you more than me.” Porthos protested.

“He has asked for you and was worried about you?” Aramis smiled at him.

“Really, what did he say?”

“He obviously feared that you had been hurt, when he woke up.”

“So now he’s remembered what happened?”

“I think he remembers bits and pieces, but he is still very confused and has difficulty staying awake. Do you see his slightly bluish lips here?” Aramis gently touched Athos’ brittle lips. “And those tremors running over his body ... These are symptoms that he is in shock and we have to change that so that he will make it through the night and wake to a new sunrise.” Aramis added concern written all over his face.

“You fear he will not survive?” Porthos said shocked.

“It depends on several things but I think it depends on his own will to survive, too. So if he asks for you and you are around and can comfort him, it’s a good sign.” Aramis tried to smile.

Then he stood up from the small settee, where he was still sitting and checking Athos’ fast heartbeat. He stretched his arms and looked around.

“Alright, I will stay then. What can I do?” Porthos asked, now reaching for Athos’ cold right hand which lurked from under the blanket and gently shoved it under the warm sheets.

“We have to check on the dead bandits. See if they are really dead and if they left any evidence who employed them. Furthermore we must be careful their employer may have planned to meet them here to fetch the spoils.”

“You are right. I’ve completely forgotten about that.”

“You were busy in taking care of our injured hedgehog.” Aramis went to the door. “I will check on the second floor. I think we have to spend the whole night here and a bed would be better for Athos, then this small settee. Call me when he wakes or starts to moan louder than now.”

“Did you notice a garden outside the house with vegetables?” Porthos asked. “I could try to find the kitchen and cook a soup. It appears that most of the rooms are still filled with furniture and other items that we could use to help him.”

“Marsac has been at that part of the garden, so I don’t know. I will hurry and then you can have a look.” Aramis said, before leaving the room.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Aramis slowly walked up the stairs to the next floor. He could still see the blood spots on the stairs as the sunlight still fell through the windows. It was a warm summer day, early July and the sun wouldn’t set before nine o’clock.

Out of habit Aramis drew his pistol before entering the second floor of the château. He counted five men lying on the floor. He started to check on the man, who was lying nearest to the staircase and wondered if this man had shot Athos. He could see a bullet hole which had entered his body in the middle of his chest. The bullet must have hit the heart. The man had been killed immediately. Aramis shuddered, if this man had been shot by Porthos, he would have had the same ankle to shoot Porthos directly in his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to get rid of that thought, wondering if the sight of the aimed pistol on Porthos’ chest had made him to jump in front of the bullet. If so Athos must have reacted in seconds.

He shook his head and drew his hand through his thick brown hair, then he continued with his task. The next raider he checked was lying further down the corridor, killed by a sharp blade, definitely by a sword. Aramis wondered if Athos had today killed for the first time with his sword. The idea crossed suddenly his mind.

He had been commissioned only eight days ago. They had celebrated with him afterwards in the _Wren_ and he had admitted that night, that he never had killed a man with his sword or a pistol. He had chosen his words well-considered and Aramis had wondered if Athos had ever killed someone before. But he thought it wasn’t the right moment to ask him about that.

 _“What is if I’m not able to shoot or to use my sword when it comes to a fight and a brother loses his life because of me?”_ The usual taciturn man had suddenly wondered aloud.

Aramis had stayed silent, while Porthos told him about his first time as a young soldier on a battlefield, before he became a Musketeer.

 _“I won’t lie to you, Athos. I was afraid, more than you can think of.”_ He had paused, then gulped the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.

_“Suddenly so many enemies were running at us with their swords and all I could do to survive was to use my own sword. One moment I wasn’t thinking about my actions, but simply acted. I was lucky that day, I survived with minor injuries, I could save two of my comrades and felt so empty afterwards. No one can prepare you for this. I felt horrible after it and had nightmares for several weeks.”_

Athos stayed silent and Aramis had the impression that he understood Porthos horrible feeling. Now thinking about the expression on Athos’ face that night he suddenly was sure that Athos had watched someone to be killed or even had to kill another person before today.

After checking the other dead corpses as well for any signs of life, which he couldn’t find he started to search the men’s clothes. Looking for any hints who had hired them to steal the diamonds. He believed that someone knew that this salesman from the Netherlands was coming and had given those bandits the order to rob him.

In one pocket he found a sheet of paper with numbers on it and three diamonds the men had obviously taken from the spoils. Maybe he had feared that they wouldn’t be paid from their employer. He couldn’t find anything of any importance on the other two, when he reached the dead body of the man, he checked first and he suddenly whistled.

That man wore different clothes, they were more expensive, fine linen. His black leather boots were new. Curiously he removed both boots, and found in the right one a hidden note. He carefully opened the folded paper and studied it closely. Confused he sat down on the floor when he suddenly realised what it was about and who had ordered the robbery.

_Can it really be? Why should the Cardinal be behind the robbery? I doubt that but somehow the Catholic Church and Pope Urban* are involved. These hypocrites!_

Reminding himself that they needed a bed for Athos, he started to open doors and looked in rooms. There were several beds on the second floor and from two of them the blankets had been removed.

_Marsac, of course, he had checked if the bandits were really dead and for any other possible threat, but why hasn’t he told us? Or has he and I’ve simply not heard him talking, because I was so busy with treating Athos’ wounds?_

Remembering that a patient was still lying downstairs, he rushed down the staircase, looked into other rooms on the first floor, where he found a room with a big bed, where they could carry Athos. He even found the kitchen and discovered some bowls, dishes and pots. He looked for any tea leaves he could use to brew a tea, but couldn’t find any. He cursed himself that he hadn’t thought that morning to bring those along as well. At least he always had his medical kit in his saddlebag.

When he heard a loud scream from the end of the corridor, he startled and ran back in order to check on his patient.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Porthos watched his sleeping brother-in-arms and wondered why Athos had jumped in front of the bullet. He still wasn’t any wiser. Was Marsac right? Had Athos a death-wish and that was the only reason why he had joined the King’s Musketeers?

He angrily shook his head and told himself that this wasn’t the reason. Athos had joined them because Tréville had forced him to do so. Encouraging young men was the old fox’s specialty and he still thought that Tréville kind of felt responsible for the troubled man, who had saved his life.* He sees something in Athos and he cares for him, such as he cares for Aramis or me. There’s the reason why he has asked us to take care of Athos.

Athos moaned again and Porthos gently pressed his hand, then he reached for a wet cloth and wiped away a new layer of cold sweat from his face. Athos didn’t stop shivering and his skin felt clammy.

_Aramis is right, we really need to lay him in a real bed and warm him up._

Athos moved again, another whimper escaped his mouth and his eyelids started to flutter. Porthos paused with sponging his face and watched his comrade fighting to open his eyes. The pain must have woken him up. He wished they had a pain draught they could give him. Gently he stroked over Athos’ hair, while the young man opened his red rimmed eyes as he looked at him exhaustedly.

“Sooo ... cold.” He slurred and tried to sit up.

“Woah, not so fast.” Porthos gently pushed him with his palm pressed on his chest back to the pads of the settee. “Don’t move. It will only hurt you more.” Porthos quietly said.

“Porthos?” Athos blinked and looked confused at him. His head was swirling while he remembered what had happened earlier.

“Are you … hurt?” He gasped, licking his brittle and cold lips.

“No, I am not. Thanks to you, I am alive.” Porthos gently answered him. “What on earth were you thinking?” He chided him softly.

“I hadn’t time ... to warn ... you. I tried … to reach ... you … to push ... away.” He mumbled and Porthos could hear him breathing more heavily, gasping for air.

“Don’t talk for now.” He advised him. “You must drink something.” He reached for the water bottle and gently raised Athos’ head, while with the other hand, he helped him to drink. Athos managed several sips, but then exhausted he turned his head away.

“I think … now ... I know.” He slurred.

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked.

“How … it feels … to fight … I … managed … to use my … sword … and pistol … tell Tréville …” A fit made him pause and he started to breath more erratically, opening his mouth wide and gasping for more and more oxygen.

“Shhh … I told you not to talk. Rest!” Porthos looked concerned at his brother-in-arms.

“He … needs to … know …”

“Who? Tréville?” Porthos asked.

Athos nodded still fighting for breath a single tear slipped down over his face.

“Whatever you want to tell him, you will tell him tomorrow.” Porthos smiled at him.

“I’m dying.” Athos mumbled. “I … m … afraid, Por … thos … I don’t want … to die … not now ...”

Athos struggled more and more with his breathing and Porthos hesitated for a moment. Then he knelt next to Athos’ weak body and gently manhandled him onto his side. The injured man locked eyes with him. Porthos could see the widened black pupils, nearly erasing the green colour of his eyes. Athos’ vision started to get blurred, while he was still breathing very heavily.

“No, you won’t die, because you are strong, you will tell him tomorrow and now breathe with me.” He gently laid his palm on Athos’ chest and could feel his hammering heart under his ribcage. “Calm Athos, breathe in and out, in and out. Each time I say in, breathe in and out, then out.”

Athos’ eyes started to droop.

“Oh no, you don’t fall asleep on me now, first you breathe with me. In and out.” He gently cupped Athos’ cheeks with his fingers and finally Athos started to listen to Porthos’ words, following his instructions he managed to breathe more evenly again, while his eyes never left Porthos’ face. “That’s it I knew you could do it.”

Athos followed Porthos’ words for several more minutes and when he finally felt that his lungs were hurting less he forced himself to speak again. Barely audible he whispered:

“Tell him … I’m sorry. I’ve … diss … app … ointed … him …”

“You mean because of last night? Believe me, he has already forgiven you.”

“He fought for me … and … I … let … him down …” More tears were running down over his face and Porthos gently wiped them away with his thumbs.

“You are confused Athos. You have lost a large amount of blood, you are in pain. Calm and sleep. I can see that you are tired. We will talk about it tomorrow, but I can assure you that Tréville has a great heart for all of his men.”

Athos sighed and closed his eyes, he tried to find a better position but by shifting his body he pressed his injured side against the backrest of the settee, the immediate impact led him scream out loud, he opened his eyes again for a moment, blinked heavily, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out again.

    Porthos sighed heavily, while checking Athos still rapid pulse.

 _It’s better this way._ He thought and looked up, when he heard Aramis running towards them.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

**_Two hours earlier_ **

“We have to slow down or our horses will not be able to go any further.” Athos shouted over to the other Musketeers feeling Roger under him fighting to keep the fast speed up.

“Since when are you a farmboy?” Marsac snarled back.

“He’s right.” Aramis shouted over to Marsac and gave his horse a sign to rest and the others followed his example.

“There’s a small stream over there.” Porthos pointed his outstretched hand to the west. “We’ll let our horses drink and rest there.”

The others followed his example. They had ridden the past two hours as fast as they could. Porthos and Aramis in the lead, Athos and Marsac behind them. Their fast galloping hadn’t allowed them to talk while riding, but now Porthos held Aramis back. Both men dismounted from their horses and looked over to Marsac and Athos who walked in silence to the stream ignoring each other. After he had made sure that Roger was drinking, Athos searched shelter under a big tree which spread its shadow and sat down with his back against the trunk. He closed his eyes, his hat still hiding most parts of his face giving Marsac the nonverbal message to leave him alone.

“When we reach the château I will team up with Athos and you with Marsac.” Porthos told Aramis.

“Are you serious?” Aramis wanted to know removing his hat and driving his right hand through his thick brown hair.

“Those two together are like fire and ice.” Porthos mumbled. “I’d better give Athos a break. He tries to ignore Marsac’s words and doesn’t answer to any of his accusations or mean tirades, but I’m sure that they hurt him deeply.”

“You think that Marsac wouldn’t have Athos’ back?” Aramis asked quietly, letting the reins of his horse go so that it could trot over to the other horses and Pothos did the same with his stallion.

“I don’t say that, but I want to have a closer look on Athos. He still looks pale and he must still have a headache. The heat and the burning sun shining down on us won’t help him to feel any better.” Aramis looked critically at the blue sky above him. It was a hot summer day, then he looked back to Porthos. “I have watched him riding closely, he has to force himself to follow our fast speed and even if he is good at hiding his emotions I think he feels more than sore.” Porthos added.

“I should ask him if he’s still fit to come along, if he admits that he doesn’t feel well, I will advise him to wait here for us.” Aramis smiled.

“Ha!” Porthos snorted. “Good luck with that, he will never confess that he has a headache and still feels miserable. He is stubborn.”

“At least I will give it a try. He knows that those men are dangerous and he is smart, if he doesn’t have the strength to fight, he is honourable enough to stay behind.”

“Good, you talk to him and I’ll distract Marsac, but if he is coming with us, I will team up with him.”

“As you wish my brother. I’m not sure if Tréville is aware that Marsac and Athos will never be able to work together.”

“Not without one of them being injured.” Porthos snorted. “I admire Athos that he hasn’t yet hit Marsac in his face. He has good self-control.”

“It’s only a matter of time until he explodes.” Aramis mused. “I wouldn’t want to be in Marsac’s shoes then and I don’t want to be a witness to this conflict either.

Porthos went over to Marsac to refill the water bottles, while Aramis made his way next to Athos and sat down beside him in the grass, leaning his back towards the trunk as well.

“How’s your head?”

“Hmm …”

“The sun is burning down on us, Athos, if you are unwell, you will endanger us all, when we have to fight with those bandits.”

He said quietly, trying to read Athos’ facial expression while looking over to him, but Athos did it again. His face was covered by a mask of indifference.

“It’s not the first time that I’ve had to deal with a hangover.” Athos muttered.

“Will you be able to fight, to protect me and the others? That’s my question, Athos?”

“I’ve told Tréville that I’m fit for duty and I usually stand to my word.” Athos now turned his head towards the medic. “These men have killed an eight year old boy.” He said barely audibly, “they shall have no chance to flee from justice.”

“I agree with you, Athos, I simply don’t want you to get hurt, because you are still suffering from whatever has occurred last night.”

“I thank you for your concern, Aramis.” Athos locked eyes with the medic. “Believe me if I still felt dizzy or light-headed I would stay behind. I am fit. You can count on me. I will have your back.”

“Actually, it will be Porthos’ back.”

“How’s that?” Athos raised an eyebrow.

“He just asked me to team up with Marsac, so that you can go with him.”

“But Tréville has ordered me to go with Marsac.” Athos tried to protest. “I don’t want to go against his orders.”

“You still have to learn a lot of things.” Aramis smiled at him. “When we are on a mission we sometimes have to change our strategy. In this case we will do it. Tréville even expects us to do it.”

“But what other strategy is it, if I go with Porthos instead of  Marsac?” Athos asked back.

“You will see.” Aramis smiled, then he clapped the other man on his shoulder and stood up again. “Drink something and then we shall continue.”

In the meantime Porthos talked to Marsac.

“When we reach that château I will take Athos with me and you will go with Aramis?”

“Why, doesn’t our great drinker feel well?” Marsac snorted.

“I won’t start a discussion or a fight with you now Marsac.” Porthos growled back. “Why can’t you simply leave him alone?”

“Because it’s funny.” Marsac told him.

“I seem to miss the joke.” Porthos answered drily.

“Do as you wish Porthos. I feel safer with Aramis, so I’ve no problem about changing our partners, but be careful with him.” He warned Porthos.

“Do you really think Tréville would ask someone to join the Musketeer’s rank who won’t be able to protect our King and Queen?”

Porthos noticed that his own voice was now getting louder and he looked over to the tree where Aramis and Athos were sitting.

Marsac realised that it wouldn’t be good to start a fight with Porthos. He stayed silent, then turned his back towards Porthos and walked over to his horse.

“I think our horses have rested enough by now. We need to move on, if we really want to arrest those bandits.” Marsac told Porthos.

The streetfighter had turned his head towards Aramis and Athos who now stood up and came over to them. Athos stepped next to Roger, who was still drinking and refreshed his own face and head with the water from the stream. The coolness felt good.

It was true that he still had to fight with a nasty headache, but he was much better than this morning and he felt fit enough to fight. He thought long about Aramis’ words.

_He’s right, if I can’t concentrate then I only will endanger the others and am no use for them. So stay attentive, stay awake, keep your head clear and try to avoid Marsac and his nasty provoking words._

He drank several gulps from his water bottle, then he turned around and nearly collided with Porthos who had stepped behind him. The loud noise of the rushing water had hidden Porthos’ movement. If Athos was startled by his sudden appearance he didn’t show it. Porthos looked in Athos’ face and once again tried to read it.

“You walk like a cat.” Athos mumbled, admitting openly that he hadn’t heard him.

“Years of practise at the place where I grew up.”

“And that was where?”

“I will tell you tonight, when we are back at the garrison. You will come with me when we arrive at the château.”

“Why?”

Athos now asked Porthos and his question was not so much about why he had to come with him, but more why he was doing this for him, but Porthos didn’t understand that.

“Because I like to have the best swordsman of the regiment to cover my back, when we go in this deserted castle. Those men are dangerous. Are you up to fight?” He cautiously asked locking now eyes with the new Musketeer.

“I guess I know why I am asked this from all of you today. I am, Porthos. My head is hurting less. Thank you for your concern.”

“Let’s saddle up.” Aramis shouted over to them and they all followed him.

**_To be continued …_ **

* * *

 

_**Many thanks to Beth for helping me with proofreading this chapter! **All remaining mistakes are mine, not hers! xx Kira** ** _

* * *

 

**Notes:**

* My story takes place in July 1625, 5 years before Athos and d’Artagnan meet for the first time. During 1623-1644 Pope Urban VIII reigned as a pope in Rome. Why Aramis thinks that the Catholic Church has something to do with the robbery of a salesman, you will find later about in this story.

** Scene from “In the hour of need, I can count on you!”, Ch 9.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kudos reviews and reading this story.  
> Here is the next chapter!  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 6**

**⚔⚔**

 

 

“Athos?”

Aramis asked concerned, when he entered the room, seeing that his patient was lying on his right side, his eyes closed. From what he could see he was sleeping and Porthos was supporting his right shoulder with his arm, so that he couldn’t turn on his back.

Aramis eyes wondered to Athos still pale face. His eyes closed, his mouth half opened, his breathing still erratic. He thought that he could see the traces of some tears on his cheeks, but he could make that up. He looked questioningly at his brother.

“He passed out again and is sleeping now, it’s better that way. He’s still in a great deal of pain.”

“His breathing?” Aramis asked his voice filled of concern when he stepped nearer.

“It suddenly changed, he gasped for more and more air, coughed and breathed in more heavily. I turned him on his side as you have told me so many times and helped him to ease his breathing again.” Porthos informed him.

“I should have warned you.” Aramis mumbled, knowing that Athos rapid breathing came from the shock his body had endured.

“You couldn’t know. He moved while he was awake and his injured side touched the back rest of the settee, the immense pain made him to scream and pass out. We need to transport him to a bed, Aramis.”

“Yes, I know Porthos, I have found a room down the hall, three doors from here.”

“Alright then.” Porthos stood up.

“Did he talk to you while he was awake or is he still too confused?” Aramis asked.

“He could remember a little about what occurred earlier, but he’s still very dazed.” Porthos paused and considered if he should tell Aramis about what Athos had asked him to do, but then he decided against it, respecting Athos’ privacy. Their eyes met and Aramis nodded understandingly, they could talk to each other without using words.

“It’s the pain and the shock, we need to warm him up.” Aramis urged.

“I will carry him.” Porthos stated firmly and bent over his sleeping comrade in order to lift him in his arms.

“I can help you.” Aramis offered, but the big man only shook his head.

“Nah, if he is able to catch a bullet for me, I am able to carry him to a bed.” He answered, now feeling all of Athos’ heavy weight on him for the second time this day.

Aramis hurried in front and opened the other door. Porthos followed him with his precious cargo. They both were glad that Athos was unconscious while they helped him onto the mattress of the bed and covered him with several sheets and blankets. When they had made sure that Athos was lying in a position that would hurt him the least, Porthos left to look for vegetables in the garden, while Aramis began his watch over his patient.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

**_One hour ago_ **

“I doubt that they were expecting us to find them.” Marsac told his fellow Musketeers, when they finally had reached the big avenue that led towards the château.

“If they are mercenaries, who were paid to rob the salesman, then they will be cautious.” Athos answered him.

“You with your weird theories. How much experience do you have as a soldier?”

“Less than you, but I can think and I can read.” Athos answered with the same tone he would use to refer to the weather, but his eyes were glaring dangerously.

Porthos and Aramis shared a short glance and they both recognised that the better Athos felt, the more his sharp mind and natural leader manners were coming back.

Athos looked over to the château and wondered if they were being observed from one of the windows. He gave Roger a sign and retreated behind several big trees.

“I think it’s better if they don’t see and hear us for now. We should leave our horses here, hidden behind those trees.”

“Are you now giving the commands?” Marsac hissed angrily.

Aramis stepped between them, knowing now why Porthos’ decision had been wise to separate both of them.

“He’s right, Marsac.” Aramis said.

“Oh, now he will start again that we have to expect five raiders.”

“Or even more.” Athos shot back, this time he wasn’t ready to ignore Marsac’s ongoing tirade over him.

“Gentlemen, will you stop it or they will hear us and be warned.” Porthos angrily said.

“We don’t know if they are here at all.” Marsac tried to protest. “It’s only an assumption. No one else had heard this dying man talking to Athos. He could have made it all up to impress the Captain.”

“They are here.” Athos answered quietly.

“How do you know that, do you have second sight?”

“No, but on our way we could see the traces their horses left on the grass. It rained last night, so the grass is still wet in several spots and if I recall correctly you said the castle is abandoned. So why is the door standing white open and why can we hear neighing horses?” Athos answered calmly.

Marsac felt the need to say something but he couldn’t find the right words so he stepped closer towards Athos and pushed with both of his hands against Athos’ chest. The young man stumbled backwards and nearly fell on the ground if it hadn’t been for Porthos, who steadied him.

“That’s enough, Marsac.” Aramis stepped between him and Athos. “We should work together not against each other.” Aramis said his voice filled with anger.

Athos didn’t react. He knew that now was not the time to fight back. Quietly he moved further back from Marsac and gently stroked Roger’s neck, calming his horse, who felt that his master was upset. Aramis shared another glance with Porthos, while Athos looked away, then he ordered:

“Check  on the mansion, we will have a look at the stables and the gardens.” Porthos and Athos nodded. When Athos wanted to follow Porthos he felt suddenly a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to Porthos, he will know what to do.” Aramis mumbled then he turned to Porthos. “Stay safe, both of you.”

“Same goes to you.” Porthos slapped Aramis on his back. “See you in a bit.” Then Porthos turned around to the man he had asked to come with him.

“They are probably in there, not sure if they expect us, they will be waiting for their missing member, it’s best if you have your pistols ready. When they try to attack us, we can fight back, first with our pistols, and when we cannot reload them, we will use our swords.” He instructed Athos who gave him a short nod that he had understood.

They had practised this strategy very often during the past weeks, but Athos knew that now was not the time to tell Porthos that he knew what to do. If he was honest to himself he didn’t know what he would do, when he was attacked.

“Any questions?” Porthos asked him.

“No.” Athos answered quietly.

“Then come. I’ll go first and you will cover me.” Porthos ordered seeing Athos holding one of his pistols in his right hand.

“I have your back, Porthos.” Athos told him. “I promise you, that you can count on me.”

“Move.”

Porthos didn’t look back, but walked towards the house along the treeline of the avenue, which led to the main entrance. From the corner of his eyes he could see Aramis and Marsac hiding behind a barn in order to search the wide garden for the raiders.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

“Do you think it is such a good idea to let Athos go with Porthos?” Marsac asked his voice filled with doubt and hatred.

“He’s a soldier just like you, so stop questioning him each time.” Aramis whispered back.

“What if …”

“Concentrate on our task, can you do this, please?” Aramis asked him politely, but the tone of his voice told Marsac not to overstress his kindness.

Today Marsac was going him on his nerves. Usually Aramis knew how to handle him , to come along with him, but he hadn’t had the same problems with him such as Porthos in earlier days and now Athos. Aramis wasn’t sure why Marsac had sought his friendship, when he had joined the regiment, but the nobleman had helped him out of a plight more than once when suddenly a husband of one of his lover’s appeared but this didn’t mean that he appreciated the way who he treated other Musketeers he didn’t favour.

Marsac stayed silent and they both checked one barn after the other, which were situated near to the château. In the last they found four horses, but no riders.

“See, I told you, four riders.”

“There still could be more than four people if they meet here with their employer to deliver the spoils, it could be easily more.” Aramis whispered back.

“True.” Marsac finally had to admit. He hadn’t thought about that. “Let’s split up, I will take the back of the château with it’s garden and the lake and you the larger area on the other side.” He proposed and Aramis accepted.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

Athos could hear his heart beating in his chest, when they entered the château. They had to be here. They had heard the neighing of horses and the door was wide open. Porthos gave him a sign to wait after they had entered the house to adjust their eyes to the dark corridor. From the dust on the floor Athos could tell that no one lived in this house anymore. When Porthos moved on he followed him as quietly as it was possible to walk on his toes on the slippery stone floor, his pistol ready to shoot.

He didn’t need to do it, because they had bad luck, just when they wanted to check the first room another door to another room was opened at the middle of the corridor. A man saw both Musketeers and shouted loudly, while running up the stairs, next to the door which led to the second floor of the château. Athos wondered which language the man had shouted. It could have been Spanish, but he assumed that it had been Italian and he wondered, what Italian raiders were doing in Paris.

“Stay right behind me, they seem to be upstairs.” Porthos mumbled towards Athos then he shouted loudly: “In the name of the King you are arrested. Surrender!”

They could hear loud noises and shouts on the second floor.

“They can try to escape through a window. Come!” Porthos ordered and rushed the stairs up, Athos right behind him.

While they were welcomed with shots, Athos was busy covering Porthos’ back. He shot back at once to give Porthos the chance to reach the second floor unharmed. Soon his first pistol was empty and he reached for his second. Only two more bullets and then he would need his sword. He could see how Porthos started to fight the first raider with his sword. The other man, who tried to defend himself with a small dagger had no chance.

“Where are the diamonds?” Porthos shouted but received no answer.

At this moment another man with a raised sword started to attack Athos, who fought him with his own sword down. After several seconds he had the upper hand over the bandit and thrust his sword inside the man’s chest. The man slumped dead on the floor. Athos hadn’t had time to think about what he just did. He removed his weapon only to help Porthos who now was attacked by two raiders at the same time. He threw his small main gauche as a dagger, when the second man, tried to fire his pistol, which was pointing now at Porthos’ head. The second man fell down, the sharp blade stuck in his throat.

In the meantime Porthos had defended the attack from the other bandit. The man was now lying on the floor, bleeding heavily from several cuts and starting to beg for his life in a language Porthos couldn’t understand.

The streetfighter bent down over the injured man to talk to him.

“Do you understand me? Who are you? Why did you rob the salesman and killed him and his son? Where are the diamonds?”

The man gasped for air and died too, when something sharp hit his head. Porthos could see the blood on his face and wondered who had shot the bullet, because Athos hadn’t had any left or had he been able to reload his weapon. He stumbled back to his feet and looked over to Athos who shouted out loudly, then he could only watch in horror as Athos fell down on the floor and backwards down the stairs, while he had fired his own pistol to kill the last raider.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

 

 

“Aramis!”

Marsac yelled when he heard the first bullet being fired. The fighting noises came out of the château and without waiting for the medic, Marsac, left the garden he had just searched and ran around to the back of the house, searching for a second entrance, but all doors were locked.    

Aramis who had been further away, cursed himself that they hadn’t stayed together. He wasn’t sure if Marsac needed his help and so he ran back to the garden, where he assumed Marsac would be, but he couldn’t find him. He lost precious time. He could hear shots being fired in the château, but he was worried that Marsac was lying somewhere injured outside.

Tréville had told them never to split up if they were searching a huge area, so why had they? Why had he let Marsac go? He had to admit that he had been angry about his previous behaviour and had needed some time alone. One single shot was fired after several minutes and then eerie silence.

    The medic gave up searching the barns and ran back towards the entrance of the house. When he reached the corridor he could see Porthos and Athos on the floor in the middle of the large hall, while Marsac had just reached them. Aramis, with his pistol still drawn, looked for any possible attackers, then he ran over to his comrades, one of them was obviously injured, but he couldn’t see in the dimn light, who it was. He heard Porthos shouting for him.

“I’m here, Porthos. I heard the shots outside. Are you alright?” He asked.

When he finally reached them, he gasped out loud seeing Athos’ bleeding heavily from a wound at the left side of his hip. His head was resting in Porthos’ lap and his eyes were closed.

_This can’t be true! Please let him be alive! Please God ..._

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

**_Present time, Captain Tréville’s office_ **

Captain Tréville paced restlessly from one corner of his office to the other. He knew that his men wouldn’t be back by now, even if they had reached the château and arrested the raiders and retrieved the spoils they would need about three hours to return and it was already getting dark. He looked out of the window, only to see that thick dark clouds were now covering the evening sky announcing that there would soon be a thunderstorm. It had been hot all day long, too hot. He stepped away from the window and continued his pacing. He had a bad feeling about that mission and the more he thought about his order that Marsac should team up with Athos the more second thoughts were coming to his mind.

_It was too early. Marsac isn’t keen on the fact that Athos was commissioned as a Musketeer. He only sees that Athos has drinking problems and can’t accept that a man more talented with the sword than him, is now in the regiment._

Exhausted, he drew his hands over his face and sat down behind his desk. Papers were covering it with tasks he still had to fulfill for the next day. He had been delayed by the investigation of the robbery. After he had taken care that the corpse had been brought to the priest, who was responsible for the dead of the city of Paris, he and the Cardinal had been called to the King and had discussed the whole incident.

He had to deal with Louis’ wrath, the Cardinal’s sceptical looks and the Queen’s worry of the relations with  England, if the pope in Rome had anything to do with it and if his Musketeers would return unharmed. At least he had assured the Queen that he was confident that his men would retrieve the diamonds in no time without being injured.

 _“They are trained for this.”_ He had calmed her, realising now that he had calmed himself too.

Giving orders to his soldiers and sending them on missions, each time he was well aware that it could mean their death sentence and that he would probably never see them alive again. Most of the time he managed to push these thoughts away, but not this time. He had seen how cruel these raiders had been, they had not even stopped from killing a child.

His thoughts wandered back to the facial expression he had seen on Athos’ face when his newest Musketeer had come out of the carriage. The paleness in his face hadn’t had to do with his heavy hangover, but with the cruelty his newest soldier had to witness. Nevertheless Athos had fulfilled his task. He had been watchful, found the injured bandit and questioned him to gather important evidence. While he had been upset and angry about him the whole morning, he had been proudly watching how well the talented soldier had learned and trained the past weeks.

_It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have sent him, even if he told me that he’s fit for duty. He’s still new and he was suffering from whatever it was that drove him to drink himself into a stupor last night. Marsac will give him a hard time. I can only hope that Porthos and Aramis will stop Marsac from bullying Athos. I am not blind. I thought that having them in a team would probably help to overcome this, but on Athos very first mission. I should have sent someone else, instead._

In the distance Tréville could hear the rolling thunder, soon there would be rain. He sighed again, knowing that with this weather they would most likely have to seek shelter from the lighting.

 _No, it was too early._ He felt his aching head and exhaustedly shook it to get rid of the pain.

He stood up again and walked over to a wooden cabinet. He opened a door and searched inside for some papers. When he had found what he was looking for, he returned back to his desk and rolled one of the papers open. He read the notes he had written down with his small handwriting. All the facts he had gathered so far over the secretive young man, who had saved his life.

    He had given up asking Athos about his past.

 _“Please, don’t ask me any further.”_ Athos had said politely, after he had queried a third time without avail. _“I give you my word that I am not a wanted criminal.”_ The young man had added.

Tréville had believed him, nevertheless he had started his own little enquiry. The young man was suffering from something and he hoped that the more he knew about him, the better he could deal with it and probably help him to overcome it.

    So he had reached out to former Musketeers, friend’s at the Royal Court and sword instructors he knew and asked around if they had heard that somewhere a young man, about twentyfour, twentyfive had gone missing. Nothing so far was reported back to him. So he had only written down the obvious facts. The way Athos’ talked and behaved were signs that he was from a noble family. He was skilled in writing and reading and he even knew Latin, so that he assumed that he had been given a good education. He knew how to ride and fight a sword, therefore he assumed he had been trained for this.

A flash lit up his room, followed by loud thunder, the storm was coming. Tréville looked up from his notes and reached for a candle he’d lit.

_What was so special about last night that you felt the need to flee your brothers and drink?_

Tréville wondered and his look through his room ended up on a small bible, which was lying next to his bed on a small chair.

“The name day of Saint Thomas. Third of July.”* He shouted out.

Surprised by his own loud voice. Could he be right, was this another important piece in his investigation? The Catholic church celebrated this feast day each year in one of the smaller churches in Paris. The Saint, who hadn’t believed at first that Jesus had risen from the death and had needed to see his wounds to have faith.

_I can be right, I can be wrong. I should go and rest several hours, but I can’t sleep before I know that they are all safely back._

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “The name day of Saint Thomas. Third of July”:  
> “The celebration of name days has been a tradition in Catholic and Orthodox countries since the Middle Ages, and has also continued in some measure in countries, such the Scandinavian countries, whose Protestant established church retains certain Catholic traditions. [...] The church promoted celebration of name days (or rather saints' feast days) over birthdays, as the latter was seen as a pagan tradition. [...] In France name days (in French: fête du prénom) have long been very important in everyday culture and it was traditional to give a small gift to a friend or family member on their name day.” (Wikipedia, Name day).  
> It would have been more likely that the Musketeers would have celebrated their name days than their birthdays. The feast that goes back to Saint Thomas was celebrated on the 3rd of July in the Roman Catholic Church. In order to find out more about Athos the hint that leads to the name Thomas is very important for Tréville. Thus he can investigate further about where Athos is coming from and much more important he has now a probable explanation why Athos got drunk the previous day, because he remembers someone with the name Thomas and this person, he assumes, has anything to do with Athos heavy drinking issues.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.  
> Here is the next chapter, half time, not sure if I will be able to post the next one tomorrow.
> 
> Enjoy ch 7  
> xx Kira
> 
> P.S. Anybody an idea how I can post a collage/picture to my story, I tried to understand the help info, but it is too complicated for me. Thank you.

**Chapter 7**

**⚔⚔**

 

 

Porthos critically observed the dark clouds chasing over the sky, when he searched in the small garden behind the château for vegetables. It was ragged, but he could find some tomatoes, carrots, onions, some herbs and strawberries. He collected them in a bowl he had brought from the kitchen. Deciding that there soon would be rain, he brought their horses into the stable next to the other horses. When he reentered the château he saw Aramis just leaving the kitchen and heading back with a bowl to the room where they had taken Athos.

“I’ve started a fire to boil water.” Aramis informed him. “Any chance you can brew a tea from something from the garden?” He asked.

“I have some melissa and with these vegetables I will do a soup.” He answered.

“As soon as you have finished we will have to search for more wood, so that we can make a fire in the fireplace in Athos’ room. He’s still too cold.”

“I’ll  hurry up, there are heavy clouds in the sky and it looks that there will be a thunderstorm soon.”

“No wonder, it was hot and humid all day long.”

Aramis let Porthos work in the kitchen and re-entered the room where Athos was sleeping. The man was moaning quietly, but wasn’t awake. Aramis put the bowl with water next to Athos’ head, then he reached for a fresh cloth and started to wipe the clammy skin on his face. The injured man didn’t wake up. Next he removed the blankets they had put over Athos’ upper body and took off Athos’ shirt which was drenched in cold sweat. He gently wiped the sweat from his chest and arms with the washcloth as well, taking care to not touch his freshly stitched wound. After he had dried his chest with a towel he had found in the cupboard, he gently rolled Athos onto his right side and cleaned his back as well. Immediately after he finished his task he helped the unresponsive man into a fresh shirt, which he had found in a cupboard and must have belonged to the owner of the house, and rolled him on his back again.

Athos breathing changed and he showed signs of waking. The medic fetched a water bottle ready to give his patient some of it to drink, if he should wake up. Several seconds later two big confused eyes looked around the room.  

“Where am … I ... ?” Athos slurred.

“Here drink.” Aramis helped to lift Athos’ head and pressed the bottle to his lips. Athos tried to evade the water, but the medic encouraged him. “Your body needs water. Now, come drink.”

Athos followed his order, took several sips and turned his head then away, so that Aramis helped him to lie down on the soft pillow again.

“Where?” He asked now with a firmer voice.

“In a bigger room. Your injured body heals better when it can rest in a real bed. How do you feel?” He quietly asked.

“Cold and tired, is this … normal … when you … get shot …?” He asked while gasping for air.

“It depends.”

Aramis answered quietly, helping Athos to role on his right side so that he could breathe more easily and rested his palm on his back to give his suffering comrade some comfort.

“I see.” Athos mumbled feeling slightly embarrassed that he needed Aramis help for everything.

“How … did … I … come here?” He mumbled still groggy.

“Porthos carried you.” Aramis softly explained.

Athos stayed silent and tried to assimilate what Aramis had just told him. He was too weak to be angry or upset, but it was an odd feeling. Of course Porthos had helped him during the past weeks now and then from the _Wren_ to the garrison, when he had had drunk too much, but then he had leant on him. Nobody had to carry him before.

“No need to feel ashamed.” Aramis added in his caring voice. “It’s normal for us as soldiers that we have to carry an injured comrade or the other way around. You wouldn’t hesitate if Porthos or I had been hurt and needed help, would you?”

“I want to be able to walk on ... my own.” Athos mumbled. “Promise me ... that tomorrow ... I will be strong ... enough to walk out ... of this château. I don’t want ...”

Athos paused when a cough gripped him and afterwards he needed several seconds to control his breathing again, when his limbs started to tremble slightly. Protectively Aramis laid his right hand on Athos’ shoulder and squeezed it softly.

“I understand you, Athos. We’ll see what tomorrow brings. For now we concentrate on small steps so that you will get better.”

“How?” Athos mumbled.

“First with something warm to drink and eat.” He smiled at his patient.

“I don’t ... want to be ... carried. It’s enough … that Marsac … thinks … that I’m … only a Musketeer … because … of Tréville … I ...” He paused again, when Aramis interrupted him.

“You are a Musketeer because you are gifted Athos. Tréville saw that at once, that’s why he supports you. Everybody who isn’t blind can see that you have a talent to be a good soldier. Stop thinking about Marsac. It’s not a sign of weakness to accept help and if your body still needs rest tomorrow you will have to allow us to carry you.” Aramis said in a firm tone, while seeking Athos’ eyes. “Do you understand me.”

“Yes.” Athos answered.

Aramis could feel the body of his patient still trembling and he tucked him tighter in his blanket.

“We will need a further blanket for you to get you warm.” He explained to the sick man.    

“Where is Porthos?”

Athos asked after several minutes of silence between them in which the medic busied himself with a second blanket.

“Preparing a soup and some tea for you.”

“Porthos can cook?”

“We all can.” Aramis laughed. “We have to, but Porthos is really good at it.”

“I can’t.” Athos mumbled fighting to keep his eyes open.

“It’s your first mission.” Aramis suddenly realised. “We teach all our recruits and new Musketeers on their first mission, we will teach you, too.”

Aramis gently explained, gathering a new hint that Athos was from a richer family, who probably had their own cook and housemaids.

“Did I hear my name?”

Porthos asked at that moment appearing with a small bowl of soup in his one hand and a cup of tea in his other hand.

Athos tried to turn on his back again to have a better look at the newcomer and Aramis helped him into a more comfortable position, reaching for several more pillows he put behind Athos’ back and head so that he would be able to drink and eat more easily.

Porthos put both items down, then he sat on the other side of Athos’ mattress and looked at the pale face. He was a little more awake than earlier, but he must still feel his hurting wounds.

“What do you want first? Tea or soup?” He asked.

Athos remained quiet fighting another wave of dizziness which the minor movement had caused.

“Start with the soup, then tea.” Aramis advised, seeing that Athos was troubled by something. “What is it Athos?”

“My head.”

Athos groaned, freeing both of his hands from under the blankets and pressed them on the side of his his head over the bandage. Aramis gently grabbed for both of his cold hands and pulled them softly away.

“Don’t, it will only hurt you more. You have hit your head. You probably have a mild concussion. Eat this soup now and then you will sleep again. It will pass, by morning you will feel better.” He explained with his melodic voice.

“Not hungry.” Athos murmured while his eyes started to droop again.

Aramis gently patted his cheeks.

“Stay awake, first soup, then you can sleep. That’s an order.”

Athos obeyed, he half opened his eyes as Porthos reached for the small bowl and a spoon which he pressed in Athos’ right hand. Athos tried to move the spoon with some tomato soup to his mouth, but his hand started to shake too heavily. Frustrated he glared at the small item in his hand and put it back in the bowl.

“Sorry, I can’t …” He mumbled.

Porthos gave the bowl to Aramis, then he took off his boots, sat next to Athos on the bed and lifted his upper body gently higher while getting behind him.

“You can do this with our help, that’s what brothers are for.” He explained for the first time, using the word brother towards Athos.

Athos leaned exhausted his head against Porthos’ shoulder too weak to protest that he was literally lying with his upper body on the strong man’s chest.

“Open your mouth.”

Aramis ordered and then he gave him spoon after spoon until the small bowl was empty. Athos swallowed the red hot soup, which warmed him, suddenly feeling hungry. They all ignored the odd picture they must have given to some observer, helping to feed a sick man, giving Athos thus the feeling that he had no reason to be ashamed that his limbs were shaking and trembling. Aramis put the bowl away and wanted to give Athos the cup of tea to drink, but the injured man had closed his eyes again and had fallen asleep at once. His head was resting on Porthos’ chest, who was holding him in a firm embrace under his armpits his arms folded across his chest, in a secure grip.

“His heart is still beating very fast.” He mouthed quietly in order not to wake Athos.

“He’s still not out of the woods, Porthos. The shock is doing this to his body. The trembling and shaking. We can only try to keep him warm up and pray that his wounds doesn’t get infected.” Aramis sighed. “The fact that he is searching for you and allowing us to help him eat and drink is a sign that he still feels miserable.” Aramis gently put his palm on Athos’ forehead feeling Athos still cold skin.

“I will fetch some firewood and then our task will be to keep him warm and lie next to him during the night.”

Porthos didn’t dare to move.

“Help me to cover his whole body again with the blanket it slipped and when I move I fear that I will wake him.”

“You will sit the whole time like this?” Aramis looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Nah, I’ll wait for you, then we’ll start the fire in here and become his human blankets at each side. You’ve just said we need to get him warm. I bet when we use our body heat as well, we should be able to fight this shock.” He stated firmly.

“He will hate us in the morning.” Aramis chuckled. “But your idea is very good.”

“We can deal with his grumpy mood in the morning as well, I’m getting used to it. I’m more afraid of the mood he’s in just now. I have never seen him so emotional.”

“It’s the illness. It weakens him and he has no strength left to hide his feelings from us.”   

Aramis mumbled then he left and Porthos watched over his sleeping comrade.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

The streetfighter felt the rising and falling of his patient’s chest on his own, he felt the slight tremors running through Athos’ body and the clammy skin. The sick man started to moan in his sleep and Porthos started to whisper comforting words in his ear, which calmed him again.

Porthos’ thoughts wandered to his previous talk with Aramis that Athos was probably a Comte. He wondered why he had never thought before about what kind of family Athos was from. Of course he had been curious about the man, who was obviously troubled by his past, but when they started to work together and train him, he had looked at his manners and behaviour and had not for a noble bearing. If he was honest to himself he even doubted that such a thing existed.

Compared to other recruits and Musketeers, Athos had never let Porthos feel less worthy because of his background. When he told him something he respected his word and when he had a question he asked him. Porthos had, after a rough start between them, learned to value Athos’ skills in fighting with a sword and taught him more dirty tricks as he called them, which the latter accepted in gratitude.

Now thinking about how they met and worked together in the past weeks he had to admit that he had become used to the new silent recruit, whose only problem seemed to be to love wine too much. Maybe that was the reason why he had intervened that Athos should team up with Marsac when they had reached the château. He asked himself, if Athos had been wounded too by sticking to the orders from Tréville, but came to the conclusion that he couldn’t tell. It was in the past and he couldn’t change the past.

_Oh, Athos, this is your first mission. You have asked me how it is to kill, to fight, now you are lying here and fighting to survive. How I wished this would have never happened._

Athos moaned again he became suddenly more and more agitated. Porthos watched how Athos moved his right hand under the blanket and pressed it against his chest, breathing erratically again. More moans escaped his mouth when he started to move his legs as well. Porthos tried to hold him down, but it was too late. Athos had touched with his right hand one of his bruised ribs, the pain made him scream out loud and gasping for air he woke with a start. His eyes wide open but staring in the distance the young man now moved his hands over his chest, and along his neck obviously searching something.

“Easy, Athos, easy. Calm.”

Porthos gently put his palm on Athos’ cold right hand which the injured man now pressed down again in the middle of his chest, while he tried to curl up on his right side. Gasping for air, blinking confused and trying to get rid of the itching pain in his chest.

“Where … is … it …?” He slurred.

“Shh … calm down, Athos.”

Porthos helped the sick man to roll on his non-injured side. He could feel the rapid  heartbeat, which suddenly started to palpitate.

“Please … I … wanna ... li …” Athos slurred, tears running down over his face.

“You will live!”

Porthos didn’t let go of Athos’ hand still feeling the erratic heartbeat under his chest. Athos started to draw in hectically more and more air, while more tears were running down over his cheeks into his beard.

“I’m … so … lost … An … what … did … you … do …” He screamed, while suddenly struggling to lie on his back again.

Porthos stopped him, holding him now tight in the foetal position and hoping that Athos breathing would change again and Aramis would hear the agony in which their comrade was in and help him. When Athos’ confused mind noticed that he couldn’t move he stroked with his hands again over his neck, searching with his long fingers for something.

Athos drifted off again now being reminded by his missing token what had happened between Thomas, Anne and him several months ago. He forced himself to keep his eyes open in order not to have another nightmare, but the pictures and the words appeared nevertheless in front of his inner eye, gripping him and transforming him in another world. Again he felt so helpless while he was forced to revive his horrible past.

_Was it all a lie?_

_Was our love a lie?_

_What has my brother done to you?_

_I don’t believe that he has touched you._

_You tricked yourself into my life and I … I was too blind to see it and when Thomas found out about it you killed him._

_You took him away from me._

_Oh … it hurts so much, Anne …_

_You took him away from me …_

_You took our love away from me …_

_Why?_

“You … took … away … from me … Why …?” He sobbed.

“Athos? What’s wrong, come on speak to me?” Porthos whispered in his ear, hoping to reach him somehow.

“Nooo …”

Athos’ screamed and reached out then with both of his hands for Porthos trying to get hold of Porthos’ shirt, the latter feeling that Athos needed the comfort, bent more over his ailing comrade and pressed his chest gently against his, rocking him like a little child, who had hurt himself, in order to calm him. His hug worked.

Slowly very slowly Athos realised that someone was calling his name, he felt a hand making gentle circles over his back and trying to calm him. He could hear Porthos’ heartbeat, his strong arms holding him in a secure grip. Athos suddenly felt safe. Exhausted he fought to settle his breathing again, after several minutes which felt for Porthos like an eternity, the injured man’s breathing calmed down again and the gaze he had had in his eyes changed.

“Are you with me now?” Porthos asked softly.

Athos nodded, slightly embarrassed that Porthos could see him in this emotional state and was holding him in his arms. He tried so hard to cover his emotions, trying not to show them to anyone anymore in order to never get hurt again, but his weakened body didn’t allow him to cover them now.

“Where … is … it …?” Athos mumbled barely audible while trying to retreat again.

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked confused, while giving the patient more space and gently released him out of his hug. “Do you mean where Aramis is? He’s outside fetching wood.

“Noo …” Athos mumbled. “My …”

He paused and again his hands found their way at his neck, finally Porthos realised what Athos wanted.

“You are missing your chain with the pendant, right?” He asked.

“Yes.” Athos said.

“I had to remove it, when we bandaged your ribs, it’s in the next room, I will fetch it for you as soon as Aramis is back.”

“I … now …” Athos asked with pleading eyes filled with tears of pain and frustration.

Porthos sighed inwardly. The missing pendant seemed to agitate his comrade, but he couldn’t leave him now without protection, he couldn’t do this, they still didn’t know if someone was about to come to get the diamonds.

“I’ll bring it to you as fast as I can, Athos. Promise.”

But the young man didn’t want to wait and Porthos felt that whatever meaning the token had for him, he needed to see it. It was at this moment when Aramis reappeared. Seeing that his patient was obviously in distress he threw the wood he carried on the floor and hurried next to him.

“What is it, _mon ami_?” He whispered gently in Athos’ ear.

“I want …” Athos sobbed.

“Stay like this and calm, I will go and fetch it now.” Porthos made sure that Aramis supported Athos’ back then he stood up from the bed, ignoring that he wasn’t wearing any boots, he left while Aramis confused watched him go.

“What’s wrong? Are you in any severe pain?”

Aramis whispered in Athos’ ear, but the latter was too spent to answer questions, new tears were running over his face. Tears of pain and frustration and Aramis gently wiped them with his thumbs away.

“It’s alright, calm … you will be better in the morning.” Aramis soothed his ailing comrade.

Several minutes later Porthos returned with Athos’ silver pendant in his hand. He sat again next to him on the bed and gently put the chain around Athos’ neck. The young man reached for the round object and covered it with his right palm, pressing it against his chest and curling more up on himself. Aramis and Porthos waited with him until he was calm again. Several minutes later Athos mumbled:

“Did you … open …”

“No, Athos. It is yours. I respect your privacy.”

Porthos chided him softly while stroking over his comrade’s hair, not daring to ask what it was or of what it reminded Athos. So much he had learned about the swordsman in the past weeks, he didn’t want to talk about his past and this pendant obviously reminded him of his past. He didn’t want to cause the injured man more distress in this moment and so he decided to keep quiet. Athos nodded gratefully, then he gave Armais a sign that he wanted to roll on his back, his hand still resting over the silver token not letting go of it, such as if he was afraid that it could vanish, when he would put his hand away.

Porthos and Aramis didn’t ask any questions, it was obvious to them that this chain with the pendant was dear to their injured comrade.

“Thankss …” Athos slurred, closed his eyes and drifted off again into another restless sleep.

“What was that about?” Aramis whispered.

“I removed it when we bound his ribs with a bandage, it would have been in the way, but I had forgotten to give it back to him.” Porthos sighed. “He woke up searching for it.”

“I hope now that he has it back, it helps him to calm.” Aramis sighed. “I don’t like his rapid heartbeat, but I cannot do anything about it for now.

“I wish we were already back at the garrison with a doctor for him, checking him over.” Porthos sighed. “He’s still shivering and very cold, let’s try to get him warmer.”

Aramis stood up again and took care of the fireplace. Porthos bent his mouth over the sleeping man’s ear and whispered:

“Fight, survive, I need you. I’ll never be able to forgive myself, if you now give up.”

Of course he received no answer from the sick man, who had fallen asleep, but at least he hoped that his words would reach him even in his sleeping state. He wished he could order him to fight and he prayed that he was listening to him, as he listened, when he was explaining something about being a Musketeer.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜ 

 

In the meantime Marsac was fighting with the elements and with himself. He cursed himself why he hadn’t insisted on binding Athos on his horse or putting him together with Porthos on a horse and riding all together back to the garrison.

_He can’t be that badly injured, can he?_

Of course he had watched disgusted how Aramis had cut Athos’ skin open in order to remove the bullet. He had seen the blood seeping from the wound and with a glance in the open stomach he guessed that the bullet hadn’t been too deep in his comrade’s flesh.

    Aramis had treated him like a servant:

_Go! Bring me this, bring me that!_ Marsac snorted bitterly.

He hadn’t even asked him, if he had checked if there were any other raiders or bandits still alive. All that mattered had been that stupid young drunkard who wasn’t worthy to be called a Musketeer. It was still a riddle to him how Tréville could accept Athos as a recruit and furthermore suggested the King to commission him as a Musketeer.

    Now it was up to him to deliver the bad news to the Captain.

_And of course whatever I will report, I will be blamed: blamed for not being with him, blamed for not staying and helping, blamed for not moving faster and reaching out for a doctor nearby, blamed for not finding a cart …_ He could go on for hours like this.

_Since my first critic against the young man which Tréville heard, he‘s begun to watch me. I know it I can see it on the glance he gives me during morning muster. Suddenly I have lost his trust … all because of this drunken fool ..._

When Marsac had left the château on his horse the weather had still been good, a little windy, but not too bad, and he could spur his horse into a fast gallop, but soon dark thunder clouds appeared on the sky and after several minutes the first rain drops started to fall. It was getting darker from minute to minute and he had to concentrate on the bumpy road so that his horse wouldn’t stumble and finally to slow down.

    Tréville would be furious and if he had to seek shelter now, he would have to suffer his Captain’s ire. Now he had to risk his own life in this bad weather. At first the Captain would ask him why he hadn’t been with Athos as he had ordered, the second question would be how severely his protege was injured, but he wouldn’t be able tell him. It could be worse or it could be nothing. Athos’ wound could become infected during the night or against Aramis’ better knowledge the bullet had hit or glanced an organ and the young man could bleed to death internally.

    The more Marsac thought about the whole incident the angrier he became towards the unqualified Musketeer. He hadn’t been fit for duty that morning and even if Porthos had said that Athos had saved his life, it could be all a lie, in order to cover a mistake that the young swordsman had made or to protect himself because he had judged the ability of the young man falsely.

_Perhaps Athos has endangered Porthos’ life and the streetfighter was too proud to admit it?_

He wondered if he would tell the truth if he were asked and he told himself that in many cases in his life a lie had been better for him than saying the truth. Remembering his father beating him up when he had accidentally broken an expensive vase of his mother. When he told the truth he had been punished, when he had lied in a similar case and said it had been the maid, he had been left unharmed.

    Nevertheless he had no choice, he couldn’t seek shelter anywhere right now. Tréville would be able to count and if he arrived at the garrison too late the Captain would wonder and ask him why he hadn’t helped an injured comrade as well as he could as he had sworn in the oath he had given as a Musketeer. So he sighed out loud, dragged his hat deeper onto his face to protect him from the heavy rain and started to pray that he wasn’t hit by a flash.

    One thing was sure he had to prove to the Captain that he had done everything possible to fetch help. For a moment he wondered if he could find a doctor in the small village nearby this château, but he didn’t know the region well enough to risk something only to find out that they hadn’t one. Marsac cursed again. On the one hand he didn’t really care if Athos survived or not, on the other hand he hoped that he would survive, so that Tréville couldn’t blame him for denying a direct order to go with their newest Musketeer and to protect him. He needed a plan what he could tell Tréville and he needed to figure out what he could deliberately leave out.

**_To be continued ..._ **

* * *

**_Many thanks to Beth xx Kira_ **

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and thank you so much for leaving a review!  
> Enjoy ch 8  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 8**

**⚔⚔**

 

They could hear the thunder rolling over the château, followed by a rain storm. Now and then a flash lit the room in which they were staying. In one corner a fire was now heating up the room. Porthos and Aramis had undressed themselves and only wore their breeches in order to avoid a heat stroke, then they had laid down next to Athos, Porthos on his right side, Aramis on his left. Covering themselves with some more blankets, they hoped that the sleeping man would finally warm up.

Several times during the past hours Athos had woken up, then each time Porthos and Aramis had repeated their now standard procedure to help Athos have some more soup or drink tea. Athos had endured their fussing over him in silence. Aramis had tasted Porthos’ delicious soup and figured out that the streetfighter had found some salt in the kitchen. They were lucky. He knew that salty fluids could help an injured person who had lost blood.

Porthos and Aramis had discussed if it was safe enough for them not to guard the château, but then decided that they would take turns in staying awake and listening to the sounds of the night. They had reloaded their pistols and their swords were lying next to them, ready to fight.  

In one of the moments that Athos had been awake, Aramis shared his thoughts on who was behind this robbery and what he had detected on the second floor.

“It’s strange, I have found a letter in the boot of one of the raiders, I think the one who has shot you, Athos.”

“Hmm …”

Athos mumbled, his eyes only half open, breathing through another pain fit that was gripping his whole body. With all the strength that he could gather, he oppressed to scream out loud, but Aramis could see that he was struggling.

“I wish I could give you something, but I haven’t brought a pain draught with me.”

“It’s al … right.” Athos slurred. “Go … on … thinking occupies me somehow …”

“What was the letter about?”

Porthos asked curiously, feeling Athos whole body trembling next to him and shared a worried glance over his head with Aramis. Unaware about that the others were talking quietly, Athos closed his eyes and decided simply to listen. He felt tired, but the pain didn’t allow him to find sleep for more than several minutes. He was glad that they distracted him with their investigation.

“From what I could read it had the sign of Pope Urban VIII., a bee, is on it.”

“May I see the letter?” Porthos asked. He studied the text longer. “Is that Latin?”

“Yes it is.” Aramis said.

“I can’t read it, what does it say?”

“Something like the recipient of this letter will have the support of the Pope in Rome.”

“The bandits spoke Italian to each other.” Athos mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Porthos asked.

“Yes, Latin is similar to Italian.”

“But why should the Pope want to rob a present that belongs to our King? What am I missing, here?” Aramis spoke out loud.

“Perhaps it has ... to do ... something with ... the wedding between ... Charles I. and Henrietta-Maria … arghhh ...” Athos opened his eyes again and tried to have a look at the letter, but his head was swirling too much and so he decided against it.

“I’m sorry my friend, we have woken you up again, we should be quiet and let you sleep.” Aramis softly said, seeing that Athos’ face was contorted with pain.

“No, go on … I can’t … sleep …” Athos whispered and then groaned even louder. “It helps me … to distract my… my mind … from the pain.” He gasped for more air.

“Alright.” Porthos understood. “But why Henrietta-Maria?”

“She married several weeks ago the King of England.* She’s catholic, Charles is anglican …”

“Where do you know these things from, Athos?” Porthos asked.

“Court gossip. Very informative when ... you have to stare ... bored at a ... white wall.” A small smile appeared for a second on Athos’ face, but then he was gripped by a cough and tried to curl up while screaming out loud in pain.

Porthos and Aramis stared stunned at Athos. They both had seen the smile on his lips.

“Help me to turn him on his side.”

Aramis shouted, while Athos moaned more and more, gasping for air and trying to get rid of the immense pain in his lower abdomen. He wanted to press with his hand on the hurting spot, but Aramis stopped it and instead held his hand.

“Press my hand as tight as you can.” Aramis ordered and he felt Athos’ firm grip, while the injured man was convulsing in pain.

Athos could hear voices in the distance, he felt suddenly so tired, he tried to keep his eyes open and he stared dazed into Porthos’ brown eyes, trying to find some comfort. But his vision blurred and all he could do was endure the waves of pain which were running over his whole body. It only took a minute, but it left him weak as a kitten. Exhaustedly he tried to turn on his back again and he felt hands on him, supporting his back. With now his eyes wide open he had a distant look.

“Make … it … stop …” He whimpered, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

“Athos!”

Aramis and Porthos shouted at the same time. Frantically Aramis put his palm on his patient’s chest, feeling his heart galloping like a horse under his ribcage, slowing slowly down again, now that the sick man had fainted.

“Is he …” Porthos asked scared.

“No, he is alive, he passed out, the pain …” Aramis sighed.

“Let’s hope he stays asleep longer this time.”   

Porthos mumbled while gently stroking over Athos’ hair. Then he suddenly burst into a loud laughter, clasped his hand in front of his mouth in order to suppress it and he felt tears glistening in his eyes.

“Porthos?” Aramis looked concerned at his brother.

“He just made a joke … it’s the first time that I’ve ever heard him making a joke and he …” Porthos gasped for air.

“Yes, he smiled, I thought that too.”

“I think you are right.” Porthos added whispering now.

“With what?” Aramis asked.

“He is from a noble family, all the languages he knows, the information about what he called “Court Gossip”, it fits.” He sighed. “Please, tell me that he will survive, Aramis, I don’t want to lose him not now, when we’re finally starting to get to know him better.”

“Only time can tell, but I’m praying and shouting to God the whole time, to let him be spared.” Aramis admitted sadly. I wish I could do more for him.” Frustratedly he stood up to put some more wood on the fire.

“Do you think Athos is right about the King of England and Henrietta-Maria that it has something to do with their marriage.” Porthos asked to bring Aramis on different thoughts.

“He could be. The King of England is Anglican, Henrietta-Maria is Catholic … but why now, they have already married …” Aramis shook his head. “And the bride has to bring money in the marriage, not the other way around.”

“Perhaps they were a present for King Louis.” Porthos mused.

“Everything is possible, I am sure Captain Tréville will know more about it.” Aramis mumbled, still observing Athos’ breathing.

“What shall we do with the dead men upstairs?” Porthos asked.

“We deal with that in the morning. Try to sleep Porthos, I will stay at his side for now.” Porthos nodded and slipped deeper under the blanket and fell asleep several minutes later.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

Due to the fact that the dead men weren’t an immediate threat to them right now, they had decided to take care of the bodies the next morning. Athos surviving throughout the night was their first priority. About an hour past and nothing happened. Aramis was laying wide awake listening to each sound inside and outside. The storm made it nearly impossible to hear anything else. He could hear Porthos gently snoring and Athos’ still erratic breathing. The rain was falling onto the rooftops. Aramis gently shifted his position in order not to hurt Athos’ injured side. A further flash of lightening lit the room and for a moment he could see Athos’ white face. He had thought his patient was asleep, but his eyes were wide open, his pupils enlarged and his whole face filled with horror.

“Hey, what is it?” He asked Athos concerned. “Do you want to drink something else?”

“Noooo.”

Athos shouted and Porthos woke up with a start, blinking, confused. At this time Aramis realised that Athos wasn’t awake but dreaming with open eyes.

“Tho … what … have …”

He slurred trying to throw the blankets from him as he started to thrash around. His hurt ribs, stitched wound and head protested at once and he groaned in pain.

“Shhh … It’s alright.”

Porthos tried to calm him, telling Aramis to help him hold the sick man down afraid that he would hurt himself further. So Porthos gently stopped his arms from moving while Aramis hold down his legs in a firm grip.

Athos didn’t wake, but only became more upset. Screaming louder and gasping for air.

_Blood … blood was dripping from the small dagger, his brother’s blood._

_Thomas was lying lifeless on the floor, his eyes still open, looking at the ceiling._

_His facial expression a mixture of surprise and pain._

_Athos could smell the taste of blood in his mouth, the sweet perfume from Anne was hanging in the air, while Catherine cried at him and shouted to help._

_He froze at the threshold staring at the surreal scene in front of him._

_This can’t be, this can’t be true … this is a nightmare … I’ll wake up from._

_Suddenly his dead brother was moving and he sat up at the middle of the room. His mouth opened, blood was dripping from his chin and he screamed at him._

_“You’ve done this to me. Look what you’ve done. It’s all your fault. You have neglected your duty. You will suffer for this … for the rest of your life.”_

_“Thomas?” He heard himself whispering. Wanting to rush forward to hold his little brother in his arms, but something heavy was holding him back._

_He saw himself in chains, which were attached to a stone wall of a small prison cell. It was cold, he felt so cold, water was dripping from his face, ice-cold water and he struggled for air._

_“I never wanted this? I never …” He gasped, but his voice faded more and more. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe … all oxygen was leaving him._

“Thomas!”

He shouted, struggling more and more for air, he could now hear voices, different voices, shouting at him to calm, shouting at each other to turn him, he felt manhandled, strong arms and hands were helping him to lie on his side again and he could hear Porthos’ gentle voice encouraging him to breathe with him.

“You’ve done this before, you can do it again. Breathe with me, in an out, in and out, in …”

Porthos instructed the sick man not letting go of his back while Aramis stroked over Athos’ hair. Slowly very slowly Athos realised where he was and started to follow Porthos’ words. After several minutes he was breathing more regularly and he could hear Aramis telling Porthos that they could lay him on his back again.

With his eyes now wide open he looked confused and startled at the ceiling. He had had another horrible nightmare and Porthos and Aramis had witnessed it. Ashamed, he wished he was invisible, to flee, but his hurt and weak body didn’t allow him to it this time.

“Are you with us?” He heard Aramis soft voice in his ear and all he could say was:

“Hmm …” Still too exhausted from catching enough air to breathe more calmly again.

“Good.” Aramis mumbled. “We were worried for a bit.” He added and looked for the cup of tea, he now pressed to Athos’ lips. “Drink several sips slowly and swallow. Yes, that’s it.” Aramis encouraged the weak Musketeer, who simply followed his order.   

Aramis stood up to light some candles to have a better look at Athos’ face. He could see some unshed tears glistening in his eyes. It hit him with real force when he suddenly realised what had just happened and he wondered if that was the real problem behind Athos heavy drinking.

“You had a nightmare.” Porthos gently whispered in his ear. “You are better now. No worries, Thomas wasn’t with us. The bandits haven’t harmed him.” Porthos thought that Athos had dreamed that another Musketeer called Thomas had been with him.

Athos stayed silent. Not ready to talk about what had just happened or reveal any further information about his dark past which he tried so vehemently to leave behind.

“I think he wasn’t talking about that Thomas.” Aramis said from the other side, then to Athos. “Do you experience those nightmares often?”

Athos stayed silent again, not knowing what to tell them, feeling suddenly taken by surprise. Another flash followed directly by rolling thunder threw a window open and pressed rain into the room, fitting to Athos’ deep anger.

“Only because ... of one dream … you don’t … know me …”

Athos shouted with all the strength he had left. The outburst came suddenly and unexpected to Aramis, who retreated several inches to give the sick man more space.

“No, you are right.” He hurried to say. “I only need to know, because if you only have those nightmares seldomly it could be a sign that your wound is infected, so you have to tell me.”

He explained and Athos splitting head finally realised what he’d just done and why Aramis had asked him. Not to judge him, but to help him.

Aramis stood up, closed the window, then he returned to Athos’ left side and started to remove the blankets and sheets they had wrapped Athos in, in order to check his wound for infection. The bitter tone Athos had shouted at him had taken him aback and even if he knew that he had spoken in a state of confusion and fear, they still hit his soul. The sensitive marksman cared for Athos, and he hoped that the injured man had finally understood that.

“What are you doing?” Porthos now asked, sensing Aramis’ own emotional state.

“Checking on his wound for any signs of infection.”

Athos stayed silent, but watched each of Aramis’ move. He coughed slightly and then said:

“I’m sorry, Aramis ... My words weren’t meant … to hurt you.” Aramis sighed and looked up.

Porthos and Athos could see that his eyes were shimmering.

“Can you accept that I’m only concerned, because I see you as a friend?”    

Aramis asked softly, pausing from removing the bandage and laying his hand on Athos’ cold. The latter gently pulled at it, until their fingers touched. A rare sign that Athos showed.

“I appreciate your help.” He mumbled. “I owe you, I owe you both …” He said barely audible tears were now glistening in his eyes.

Aramis slightly pressed his hand.

“Apology accepted, you are injured and in pain. I wonder how I would react.” He tried to joke. Then he returned to his previous task, but a touch on his hand made him stop.

Athos pulled his hand closer to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Athos, I just need to check your stitches.”   

He answered quietly, but turning around to look in his patient’s face. In the dimn orange and yellow candlelight, which was colouring the heated room, he could see a soft expression in Athos’ face. For a moment he wondered how many more expressions he would see that night, but he didn’t say a word.

“You are right.” Was Athos only answer and Aramis gasped, while Porthos didn’t know what was going on.

“What am I missing here?” He cautiously asked.

“I’m trying ... to forget ... Porthos.” Athos turned his head towards the big man, who was now in a sitting position next to him.

Thunder rolled outside and all three men shuddered at the loud sound.  

“What?” The streetfighter still asked confused.

“You are both ... trying to save ... my life, so the least ... I can do ... is to tell you … why I … was drunk yesterday.” He slurred.

“You don’t need to.” Aramis protested now, not letting go of his hand. “You are tired, your body needs rest, sleep, and we will talk in the morning, if you still want to talk about it.” He whispered in his ear, again stroking his hair.

Athos was touched by Aramis’ care and understanding, even now, when he had finally dared to say something.

“I can’t …” He slurred.

“You can’t what?” Porthos softly asked.

“I try ... to sleep, but ... I can’t find … sleep.” Athos mumbled. Porthos suddenly understood.

“Because of Thomas?”

Porthos asked carefully and Athos nodded, while finally tears were running over his face and finding their way down over his cheeks and nose into his beard. Porthos reached for a cloth and gently wiped them away.

“As Aramis just said, no need to tell us now. I promise you, you can sleep. See we are both here and we are going nowhere, so close your eyes and sleep. You are safe, whatever is troubling you. Tonight we will watch over you and chase it away.” He encouraged the sick man.

Athos wished that it was as easy as Porthos had just said, he leaned more in Aramis’ touch. Groggily he closed his eyes, he suddenly felt very tired again. The talking had exhausted him. Somehow Porthos’ words and Aramis’ touch gave him security and he allowed himself to drift off again.

When his breathing changed, both awake Musketeers sighed out loud.

“I never expected that we would discover what makes him drink so heavily, on our first mission together with him.” Porthos mumbled.

“Something must have changed and he trusts us?” Aramis quietly stated. “And I’m not so sure that it has to do with this bullet hole in his stomach near his hip.” He gently put Athos’ hand back on the mattress and hurried to remove the bandage. “Can you hold the candle please, so that I can see better?”

Porthos helped Aramis with the light and the medic carefully inspected the freshly stitched wound.

“I can see some sore red spots, where I had to push the needle through the skin, but that’s normal, no sign of pus yet and the stitches are all intact.” Aramis said, relief written all over his face. “I wish I had some salve to put on the healing wound.”

“I’m sure the Captain will send something along, when he hears.” Porthos answered. “Let’s tuck him in those sheets and blankets again and hope that the rest of the night he will sleep through.” Porthos whispered.

Several minutes later they both laid down again next to their sleeping patient. This time Porthos took over the watch and Aramis fell into a light sleep, his palm resting now on top of the blankets on Athos’ chest making sure he would wake the very moment that his new friend felt unwell.

**_To be continued …_ **

* * *

 

_**Many thanks to my lovely beta Beth for all her help xx Kira** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I leave you with some notes I found about Henrietta-Maria (I use the writing of her name in English in this story) which I find really very interesting:  
> “Henrietta Maria of France (French: Henriette Marie; 25 November 1609 – 10 September 1669) was queen consort of England, Scotland, and Ireland as the wife of King Charles I. She was mother of his two immediate successors, Charles II and James II.  
> Her Roman Catholicism made her unpopular in England, and also prohibited her from being crowned in an Anglican service; therefore she never had a coronation. She began to immerse herself in national affairs as civil war loomed on the horizon, and was compelled to seek refuge in France in 1644, following the birth of her youngest daughter, Henrietta, during the height of the First English Civil War. The execution of King Charles in 1649 left her impoverished. She settled in Paris, and then returned to England after the Restoration of her eldest son, Charles, to the throne. In 1665, she moved back to Paris, where she died four years later.  
> The North American Province of Maryland was named in her honour, and the name was carried over into the current U.S. state of Maryland.”  
> “Henrietta Maria was aged just fifteen at the time of her marriage.”  
> “Henrietta Maria married Charles by proxy on 11 May 1625, shortly after his accession to the throne. They were then married in person at St. Augustine's Church, Canterbury, Kent, on 13 June 1625, but her Catholic religion made it impossible for her to be crowned with her husband in an Anglican service; Henrietta Maria proposed that the French Catholic Bishop of Mendes crown her instead, but this was unacceptable to Charles and the court. Henrietta Maria was allowed to watch Charles being crowned, at a discreet distance.”  
> (source: wikipedia, Henrietta-Maria_of_France)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,  
> I am back with the next chapter.  
> Thank you so much for all of you. who have left a review. I am always curious to read what you think about my chapters!
> 
> xx Kira

**Chapter 9**

**⚔⚔**

 

“You don’t know?”

Tréville’s voice echoed over the large courtyard of the garrison, shouting at Marsac. Other Musketeers came out of the canteen, the stable or their quarters, where they had searched shelter from the heavy rain, but hearing their Captain shouting that late in the evening meant that something must have happened. Now they formed a circle around Marsac and the Captain and watched the spectacle that was going on.

“I rode as fast as I could, Captain!”

Marsac tried to protest and his eyes looked somehow reproachful that Tréville didn’t show him his gratitude that he didn’t seek somewhere shelter during the rainstorm but continued as fast as the heavy rain allowed him to ride. He was soaked through from the heavy summer rain. Strands of dark blonde hair were plastered on his forehead and cheeks.

Tréville had waked into his office counting the minutes and hours until he had heard the hooves of one horse coming through the archway into the courtyard. At first he had thought it must be someone else, but not one of the Musketeer’s he had sent in pursuit of the bandits.

Albeit his uneasy feeling hadn’t left him the whole evening long and now he reached for his hat and left his office to see from the balcony who had just come back. When he identified Marsac and seeing none of the other Musketeers he had sent together on a mission, he didn’t wait, but ran down the stairs.

Marsac looked like a wet poodle and he had a strange sad expression on his face. Before Tréville could ask he already started to speak.

“Captain, we need a wagon and a doctor.”

“Why? What happened? Who is injured?” Tréville asked realising that his feelings had been right.

“Athos.” Marsac mumbled barely audible and then fell silent.

“How? What? Where?” Tréville asked while waiting for more details that didn’t come.

“It happened so fast.” Marsac tried to explain.

Tréville breathed out deeply:

 “Tell me from the beginning.”

Marsac reported how they had found the bandits at the château and that they were now dead. He said that he had left the spoils behind to fetch help as fast as possible and then he stayed silent.

“Do I have to ask each single question?” Tréville now angrily growled as he still wasn’t any wiser what had happened to Athos and the others. “How severe is Athos injured?”

“I don’t know.” Marsac mumbled. “As I’ve just told you, I came as fast as I could. Aramis and Porthos are taking care of him, they are unharmed.

“You don’t know how severe, but at least you must know what has happened. I ordered you to team up with him, so you must have been with him when he was injured.”

“I wasn’t with him, when it happened, I was outside checking the garden. Porthos asked to change with me.” He apologetically pressed his wet hat in his hands and didn’t look up.  

Tréville felt his heart beating faster, if Porthos had felt the need to take Athos under his wings, when they arrived at the château he wondered how the ride to the château had been for all of them and he felt a sharp pain in his chest realising that his decision to team both men up had been a bad one, at least it had been that day. He tried to stay calm, but he finally lost his temper and shouted:

“You don’t know where Athos has been injured?”

“At first I thought he had slipped down the stairs, he was bleeding at his temple, but then Aramis said something from a pistol wound. This was when I saw all this blood ...”

“Where?” Tréville now asked more quietly feeling all his colour was leaving his face and being glad that the pouring rain draped him in darkness.

“In his lower stomach, left side, bleeding heavily. Aramis removed the bullet and stitched the wound. For now he is very weak, in pain and can’t ride. Porthos and Aramis are checking on him and waiting now for help to bring him back.” Marsac added, his head still bowed his eyes looking at the concrete.

Tréville breathed in heavily, knowing that such a wound could be deadly, if the bullet had hurt any organs. He looked at the dark sky above him and he knew that riding now in the darkness was too dangerous. Because of  the clouds they had no light and a hole in the road could easily break a wheel of their wagon, which only would mean that they would lose precious time in arriving there. He turned around to his men, shouted over to Gaston to go to the palace and bring the doctor to the garrison. He should accompany them. At first light he would ride with several other men towards the château.

Marsac offered to show him the way, but Captain Tréville knew which castle he was talking about and how to go there, instead he asked:

“What can you tell me about those bandits and have you found the spoils?”

Marsac filled him in with a short report about what they had discovered. At the end of his report he offered again to come back with Tréville in the morning, but the latter shook only his head, while in his mind he was already forming a plan how many Musketeers he would need.

“Stay here and rest!”

He ordered seeing again how miserable Marsac looked and wondered how fast he had ridden through the night to come back here. Riding by night without light or very little light was dangerous too, when you rode as fast as you could. He would deal with Marsac another day, when he had more information of what really happened.

Exhausted he walked back into his office, slammed his door shut and reached for a towel to dry himself. He decided the best he could do for now was to sleep for several hours and so he forced himself to lie down and to be ready to start at first light.

_I have to trust that Aramis and Porthos will give their best to take care of Athos. The fact that Marsac has come alone tells me that he either Aramis expects that there are still other bandits out or that he needs Porthos’ help with treating Athos. Probably both._

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

_Dead eyes looking at him, following him, each of his moves, blaming him._

_Thomas was coming nearer and nearer, but suddenly his face changed and he didn’t look in his brother’s eyes, but the eyes of the dead boy who opened his mouth and laughed loudly at him. The laughing stocked and the boy dropped to the floor, dead._

_He could hear shouts, loud sounds, he felt pain everywhere._

_Then a grin a wide grin from a man with long black hair and brown eyes, staring at him coldly and firing his pistol._

_He tried to run, to throw himself on the floor, to jump in the air. Do anything only to avoid the bullet which was coming nearer and nearer. When it finally hit his body he screamed out loud._

Athos moved both of his hands over his shirt towards the pain in his abdomen and pressed the palm of his left hand on the pulsing spot, hoping that this way the unbearable pain would finally go away. Something stopped him from pressing it down, whilst something else gently stroked over his hair and whispered words of comfort in his ear.

“Easy, easy, we’ve got you. Go back to sleep.” Porthos mumbled and Athos sluggishly opened his eyes. Blinking heavily he finally could see Aramis sitting on the left side of his bed, smiling down at him.

“See, we didn’t leave you.” He gently said. “Are you in pain?”

“My side burns … like fire …” Athos whispered.

“Wish I could give you something for it.”

“You could?” Athos whispered.

“What?” Porthos asked gently.

“I’ve a bottle of cognac in my saddlebag.” Athos mumbled. “Sometimes it helps to ease the pain.”

Aramis stood up and showed him the nearly empty bottle.

“Sorry, my friend, I used it to clean both of your wounds.”

“But there is still something in it.” Athos mumbled.

“Give it to him.” Porthos said and earned an angry glare from Aramis.

“What is if the wound gets infected.” Aramis protested.

“It hasn’t so far. Believe me Tréville won’t send help without medicine.” He said completely convinced and so he gently lifted Athos’ head, while Aramis gave Athos the golden liquid. After two gulps their patient turned his head away and said to their own astonishment.

“I think it’s enough for now.”

Aramis knew for sure that it wasn’t. When they were back he swore to himself that he would help Athos to live without alcohol for at least a month, hopefully longer. He had no idea how he would do it, but the young man definitely needed help or the alcohol would be his death one day. He cared for Athos, considered him as a friend and he wasn’t ready to give up on him. With his brave deed he most probably had saved Porthos’ life. The life of his best friend.

Athos closed his eyes again, but sleep didn’t want to find him and he started to trash anxiously around. Porthos shared a glance with Aramis and they decided to talk to him instead.

“You can’t sleep, can you?” Porthos murmured.

“No.” Athos mumbled and opened his eyes again.

“Would you mind telling me about it?” Porthos asked, but Athos stayed silent for several seconds gathering his thoughts.

“Do you ... have ... nightmares, too. I mean ... after a mission ... like that?”

“Now and then.” Porthos quietly answered.

“It’s the way our soul tries to comprehend what has happened.” Aramis explained from the other side.

“I’ve dreamt ... how I was shot ... at.” Athos mumbled.

Porthos and Aramis stayed silent. Porthos because the guilt was suddenly covering his conscious and Aramis because he didn’t want to say that it wouldn’t be the last time that he would dream about it. Finally he said:

“I know those dreams. Each Musketeer who has been in a fight or on a battlefield has those nightmares, if he says he hasn’t, he is lying.”

Athos nodded quietly. He felt the Cognac easing some of his pain. He closed his eyes again and they already thought that he had fallen asleep again, when barely audibly he  whispered.

“How can I make them stop?”

“There is no medicine against it.” Aramis quietly answered and put his hand on Athos’ pressing it softly. “What can help is to talk about it, the more you talk about your experience, the more it can really become past but it can take weeks, months, sometimes years.”

“Does it get easier?” Athos asked.

“From my experience, yes.” Porthos answered. “The more you get used to it that you have to fight and protect France, the King and the Queen, the easier it gets.” He paused. “You have to make sure that your comrades and you survive.” He snorted softly.

Athos looked confused at him.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing.” Porthos mumbled. “I think it’s my kind of humour. With a joke you can sometimes ease a tense atmosphere.”

Aramis stood up.

“I’ll make some fresh tea and I will fetch the rest of the soup for you Athos. You might not have realised it, but your body is less cold and your pupils are not so enlarged anymore.”

“Is that a good sign?” Athos asked.

“A very good.” Aramis smiled. “Nevertheless you need lots of fluids and rest for the next few days.”

He smiled warmly and left feeling that Porthos needed some time with Athos alone to talk with him about what had happened earlier.

“He’s a bad liar.” Athos mumbled when Aramis left.

“He’s a very understanding, caring friend and brother.” Porthos told him. “Athos, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm …”

“Why did you jump in front of me?”

“Because there was no other chance to have your back.” Athos quietly admitted.

“I didn’t ask you to sacrifice your life for mine. That’s not what having your back means. You know that, do you?” The strong man said with tears in his eyes.

Athos turned his head towards Porthos.

“Your life is worth so much more than mine.” He whispered while looking him straight into the  eyes.

Porthos was taken aback. Was Marsac right after all? Had Athos a death wish?

“What makes you think that?” He softly asked, while gently pressing Athos’ right arm.

“The way you treat people. You and Aramis, you have both helped me the past weeks. You have never given up on me, even when I was somewhere drunk in a tavern. You always helped me back, never judged me, never forced me to tell, even today … I mean yesterday … Never in my whole life did anyone do such a thing for me.”

Aramis, who had heard the last words from Athos, while returning with the soup in his hands, put the small bowl away and sat down on the other side of Athos’ mattress.

“Oh Athos.” Porthos mumbled, unable to find the right words he stayed silent.

“You would do the same for us.” Aramis quietly said. “Do you remember last night, we had this fight in the _Wren_. You protected us, you defended me, you stayed until you were sure, no one would harm Porthos or me anymore.”

“And today you protected me from Marsac, Porthos. I wasn’t well all afternoon. My head hurt and I couldn’t stand his talk any longer but I couldn’t act against a direct order from Tréville, I couldn’t punch him on his nose.” Athos gulped and Aramis had to laugh out loud.

“I would have loved to see that.” He chuckled. “No, you are right, probably one punishment from Captain Tréville a day is enough, I agree with you.”

“But in a way you did it for me, Porthos. You trusted me. Who am I when I can’t give you this trust back in such a dire situation?” Athos gulped, while tears were running over Porthos’ face. “I had only a second. I considered throwing myself on you, but you were too far away. He aimed at your chest, the only way I could figure out was to jump.” He chuckled, I forgot about the stairs.”

“You are an idiot.” Porthos mumbled. “A stubborn fool. My stubborn friend.”

He gently embraced Athos with a big hug and didn’t let go of him for a while. Athos didn’t fight back but endured it and was even grateful for it. His head was pressed at his comrade’s chest and he could feel both of Porthos’ warm hands holding his back in a warm embrace.

Porthos didn’t know how long he’d been holding him like that, but when he felt Athos starting to tremble slightly and gasping for air, he gently helped him down on the mattress, while whispering in his ear.

“Never ever do this again! Do you hear me? Promise me.”

“I promise you ... to take better care ... of me ... next time.” Athos slightly nodded.

“God behave that there will be a next time like this.” Aramis said loudly and crossed himself. “I know you are tired, _mon ami_ , but first the soup, then you can go back to sleep. We will help you again.”

Before Athos could say a word of protest, Porthos lifted him into an upright position, while Aramis gave him spoon after spoon of the soup. The only thing Athos had to do was to gulp. When he had finished. He gave both men a sign and Porthos helped him gently down again.

Exhausted but finally much warmer in his limbs and in his soul he closed his eyes and drifted off in a more restful sleep.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

“What?”

Aramis asked quietly to Porthos. The thunderstorm had eased several minutes earlier and after talking with Athos they were both wide awake and watched their sick third sleeping.

“I know why Tréville asked us to look after him.” Porthos mumbled.

“Now you do.” Aramis grinned. “He saved the life of the Captain, today he saved your life. He is going to be a fine soldier very soon.” Aramis smiled at Porthos.

“He still has to learn a lot.” Porthos said shaking his head, “Jumping in front of a bullet, because I’ve helped him with Marsac. How stupid was that?” He angrily snorted.

“We have to do something. It can’t go on like this. Marsac is in no position to behave like this towards another Musketeer.”

“Today I heard Athos admit for the first time that he wanted to fight back ”

“Did you think that he wasn’t capable of such feelings?” Aramis whispered in order not to wake Athos.

“He always appears so unmoved, that even Marsac’s stupid talk doesn’t hurt him, but I was right it does hurt him and he is ready to fight back.”

“I have the impression that Athos loves his commission as a Musketeer too much and he doesn’t want to endanger this by starting a fight with Marsac. He values our Captain highly.”

“But nearly missing morning muster because he drank himself into stupor doesn’t endanger it?” Porthos shrugged. “Tréville has warned him, if he doesn’t appear in time, he won’t keep him.”

“I think Athos has his own logic, just like when he fought with you all afternoon, because he was convinced that there had to be rules.”*

“Not again.” Porthos growled.

“It’s somehow sad.”

“What is sad?”

“He just told us that never before he had friends in his life. That’s what he said, didn’t he.”

Aramis sighed.

“That’s why he has such problems talking about his feelings and coping with them, he has us now.” Aramis looked at Porthos’ sad face.

“Yes, he has.”

“He will hate us.” Aramis chuckled.

“Why?”

“Because I will make it my personal task to help him to leave this heavy drinking behind.”

“Ohhh … yes, you are right, he will hate you, but I will help you. All for one …” He quietly mumbled. “We should try to catch some more sleep.” He added and slipped back under the sheets next to Athos, while Aramis stood up, too troubled and deeply affected.

He needed to do something and so he started to count the diamonds and sort the saddlebags, Marsac had brought them. Thinking about how he could settle things between Marsac and their newest member. His thoughts drifted each time off to what had happened between Athos and Marsac that day and on previous occasions.

Aramis yawned loudly and drove his hand weary through his thick brown hair. He frowned. By now he had counted the stones in both saddlebags twice, he had added the stones he had found by the dead man, but each time he counted five less according to the neatly folded paper that had been in one of the pockets of a dead bandit, given the exact number and size of all stones that should be delivered to the King. I need to concentrate. He rubbed his eyes and started to count a third time, but five stones were still missing. I need to check on the dead corpse again, maybe another man has retrieved stones too but only hid them better. I have to inform the Captain about the missing stones, if I don’t find them. He sighed, yawned again and decided to lie down next to Athos, and try to rest a little.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

Aramis woke the next time in the early hours of morning. He must have missed that Athos had woken up again and he slightly felt embarrassed, but Porthos was awake and whispered something in Athos’ ear to calm him or distract him from the pain. The medic gently put his hand on Athos’ shoulder and looked him into his face.

“Is it your side or your head what’s hurting you?”

“Right now my ribs.” Athos mumbled. “Go back to sleep, Aramis.” He added barely audibly “You need your sleep too.”

“It seems so, I haven’t noticed your distress, I’m sorry.” He said quietly back.

“Porthos was kind enough to help you out.” Athos mumbled.

Aramis sat up and looked over to Porthos who smiled at him.

“He is right, Aramis, you need your beauty sleep.” Then he added in a mild tone. “Go back to sleep Aramis, I’ll help him to fall asleep again.”

“How?” Aramis murmured. “Not with your fist, he has sustained a head injury.”

“No, what are you thinking of me?” Porthos protested theatrically putting a hand on his chest.

“He’s telling me about his childhood … in the Court of Miracles …” Athos mumbled. “It helps.” He whispered.

“I promised to tell you. So now close your eyes and I will continue with the story how I met Flea the first time.”

“Is Flea actually a real name?” Athos mumbled.

“I will tell you about that too.” He chuckled softly.

Aramis decided to go back to sleep too, Porthos had everything in control and the stories of his childhood seemed to calm Athos. He turned around, closed his eyes and drifted off again, hearing Porthos’ gentle voice more and more in the background.

 

**_To be continued ..._ **

* * *

 

**_Special thanks to Beth for proofreading xx Kira_ **


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for kudos, reading & your lovely reviews.  
> Sorry for the delay in posting … posting three stories at the same time is a little crazy and I want to give you some time to catch up with the other stories too.
> 
> Enjoy the next chapter.
> 
> xx Kira

**Chapter 10**

**⚔⚔**

At first light Tréville gathered six men around him, the wagon was ready, filled with blankets and pillows. The doctor had made sure that he had his medical bag with him. He had wanted to wait, but Tréville had ordered him to come along. He didn’t want to take any chances not knowing how severe Athos was injured and his aim was not to lose that young Musketeer on his very first mission.

Although the wagon would slow them down, Tréville urged his men to hurry. They could sense the tension their Captain was in and felt the same. When a fellow comrade was injured you help each other, because they all knew that  _ divided they would fall _ .

Marsac had offered that morning to come along, but Tréville held onto his opinion, that he should stay at the garrison, until he’d had time to make further inquiries what really happened at the château. If he found out that the latter had anything to do with Athos being injured, he would have to act hard. Marsac was from a rich noble family and the King asked him specifically to admit him into his regiment, but he himself had his doubts, if Marsac would ever be able to have the chance to become an officer. 

His lack of compassion and his thinking that he was better than other Musketeers who were not from a noble family left Tréville in some doubt about his abilities. Such a man couldn’t lead soldiers into a battle, they wouldn’t respect his decisions. He had hoped that by teaming Marsac up with Athos, the latter could learn something more about keeping his feelings back. 

But he shook his head, each of his men had his flaws. They were human. In the same way that Athos had his drinking problem, they all carried something with them around. The question was if they were able to overcome that or not. He sometimes even wondered if Athos would be able to leave his - to him still unknown past - behind.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

Morning came and Athos was finally deeply asleep. The sunlight shone on his face through a huge window and Aramis could see that his lips weren’t bluish any more. His face was still pale, but the clammy skin had vanished. All these signs showed that he was on the mend, but he still had to be brought back to the garrison and the transportation on the wagon would cause him unbearable pain. Aramis feared that his bruised ribs could still crack. 

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it.” Aramis heard Porthos saying and turned around.

“What?”

“You are worried about bringing him home.” Porthos grinned.

“Stop reading my mind.” Aramis chided him. “I hope they bring a pain draught with them. He’s still in a great deal of pain.

“They will!” Porthos stated firmly then continued: “I will have a look for some breakfast, I think I heard some hens outside, maybe I can find some eggs.” Porthos left the room. 

Outside Porthos refilled their water bottles at the well, saddled their three horses and finally found in the stable three fresh eggs, he went back in the house and prepared their breakfast. When he returned to the room with three plates, Athos had woken up and endured Aramis fussing over him. The medic checked on his bandages, his eyes and heartbeat.

“Neither wounds are infected.” He informed Porthos. “Oh, you really did find eggs?” 

“How are you feeling, Athos?” Porthos asked, while putting the plate next to him.

“Better.” 

“Eat!” Aramis ordered and with Porthos help the weak man managed to sit up on the bed and eat the egg without further help.

“I agree, you are better.” Porthos laughed relieved.

“My head doesn’t swirl any longer and the pain is only dull but I have to be careful when I move my upper body, each time it sends me into another agony.” Athos said while eating the egg hungrily. “You really have to teach me how to cook.”

“If you teach me how I can improve my writing and reading.” Porthos asked.

Athos looked up astonished.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“And I will teach you how to evade bullets and to stay alive.” Aramis quietly added.

“Fine, when you teach me how to sew wounds.”

“Done,  _ mon ami _ .” Aramis reached out for Athos’ hand and pressed it gently.

They all fell silent for a while eating Porthos’ prepared breakfast which not only consisted of eggs but of strawberries too. When they had finished, Athos looked first at Porthos and then at Aramis.

“I still owe you an explanation why I was drunk.”

Aramis held his hand up.

“I told you last night and I’ll repeat it now, think about if you are really ready to share this information with us.”

“I trust you, both of you.” 

Athos quietly answered and looked in the distance. Then he swallowed hard and began barely audibly to tell them:

“It was the name day ... of my younger brother ...Thomas.” He felt how his voice started to betray him and he closed his eyes for a moment.

“What has happened to Thomas?” 

Porthos now heaved his body next to Athos on the mattress and laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder. The latter had his head hung and his curly strands were hanging over his face.

“He’s dead.” 

Athos breathed out and his whole body started to shiver. He wasn’t able to say more, because it took all his strength to gather his emotions.

“It’s never easy to lose our loved ones. Oh, Athos, why haven’t you told us? We would have come with you and not leave you alone that night.” Aramis said, helping Athos back in a lying position, sensing the still sick man needed his help.

“It’s just this day ... was special. We always celebrated it ... with a cake ... shared small presents ... played together.” Athos murmured from under his hair he now used as a protection shield. “I miss him.” He quietly admitted.

Porthos fought with himself if he should ask a further question, but then he decided against it. For the first time Athos had told them something from his past and he could see how much strength it had caused him.

_ No, he must find the right place and the right moment to tell us more, when he’s up to it. But this is not this place, not today. He needs to heal first. _

“Thank you for your trust,  _ mon ami _ .” Porthos gently bent over Athos’ ear and whispered the words, then he busied himself with wiping Athos’ long hair out of his face. “We will never be able to bring you your brother Thomas back, but we are happy that we can be your brothers.” Porthos told him. 

Athos turned his head towards him, his eyes were glistening, but he hadn’t had shed any tears. 

“You really mean that?” He whispered.

“Well, brothers can be a nuisance, but yes we mean that.” Aramis approved. 

Athos closed his eyes too overwhelmed from the love which suddenly surrounded him. Porthos gently retreated to give Athos some distance and Aramis, after softly pressing his now warmer hand, stood up as well.

“Sleep,  _ mon frère _ , help should arrive very soon.” Aramis stated firmly.

Athos only nodded with closed eyes and drifted off again.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

Two hours later Tréville arrived with his men the château. When Porthos heard the sounds of his fellow Musketeers he left the castle to greet them, while Aramis stayed with his still sleeping patient. Soon he could hear footsteps running over the stone floor of the corridor and then Tréville’s head appeared in the doorway followed by the palace doctor.

“How is he?” 

Tréville asked coming over to Aramis to have a better look at his injured Musketeer, who looked pale and exhausted. His eyes were closed, his breathing more regular. He paused and watched the rising and falling of his soldier’s chest.

“He has a minor head injury, two bruised ribs from falling down a staircase and a bullet wound at the left side of his hip. I removed the bullet, cleaned it with alcohol and water and stitched it. His body was in shock, but as far as I can tell he’s much better now.”

“Could you talk with him?” The doctor asked and Tréville let him do his job.

“Yes, at first he was confused, but after a while his memory of what had happened came back.”

“What occurred?” 

Tréville wanted to know at the moment, when Porthos re-entered the room as well. He had given the other Musketeers information about the whereabouts of the dead bandits and their horses.

“I’ve asked Athos to search the château with me while Aramis and Marsac checked on the gardens. The bandits heard us coming and fled to the second floor. We only counted four raiders, but there had been a fifth hiding in one of the rooms. I didn’t see him coming, but Athos saw him, albeit it was too late for him to warn me.” Porthos sighed and looked ruefully on the floor.

“You are telling me that Athos caught the bullet for you?” Tréville asked doubtfully.

“He saved my life Captain, what he did was really brave.” Porthos said firmly.

“And insane.” Tréville answered angrily aloud.

“Shhh … Captain.” Aramis said. “Why don’t you discuss this outside while the doctor and I check on our patient.” Aramis angrily stated now pointing at Athos sleeping form. 

Tréville looked confused at his medic. His behaviour towards Athos had changed, so had Porthos. Whatever had happened in the past hours between them, it had made them not only to comrades, but to friends.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” 

They suddenly all turned their heads to the sound of the weak voice. Tréville his anger already forgotten, shoved Aramis aside and sat on the chair, next to Athos’ head. The swordsman forced himself to open his eyes to look at his Captain. He blinked several times, until he could lock them with Tréville.

“How are you doing, son?” Tréville gently asked.

“Fine.” Athos said while he had difficulties to keep his eyes open. 

Tréville gently laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder and squeezed it softly.

“I was worried about you, Athos.” He silently admitted. 

Porthos and Aramis grinned broadly, that was their Captain angry at one moment and comforting the next.

“Porthos and Aramis ... have taken ... good care ... of me.” Athos slurred.

“They are good at that.” Tréville nodded.

“I’m so sorry that I disapp …” 

Athos wanted to continue, but he paused, he felt his heart beating faster in his chest and he struggled to take in enough air. He opened his mouth wide while he pressed with the palm of his hand on the pain in his chest, hoping to somehow chase it away.

“Ar … mis …” 

He gasped and his eyes searched frantically for the medic not knowing what was going on with him. Aramis and Porthos rushed towards him, while the medic reached for his hand, put it away from his chest and felt with his fingers his pulse. In the meantime Porthos rolled him with the help of the doctor on his side, searching for Athos’ eyes who looked now far in the distance, while struggling for each breath.

“No, no, no.” Porthos growled. “Don’t do this to me, do you hear me?” 

But Athos couldn’t hear him, he was fighting for each breath. Aramis gently clapped his cheeks, and finally Athos started to calm down and calm his breathing. Exhausted, after several minutes he rolled onto his back again and stared dazed at the ceiling of the room.

Tréville slightly taken aback at how fast Athos’ state of health suddenly had changed looked now questioningly at the doctor. Who stepped forward to help Aramis to examine their patient.

Aramis had pressed his palm under the blanket on Athos’ chest and could now feel how his heartbeat slowed down again. In the meantime the doctor removed the bandage around Athos’ hip and checked the stitches.

“Your needlework is excellent, Aramis.” He applauded the medic. “I can see no signs of infection. However the state of shock can be tricky.” He sighed. He put same salve on the wound and started to rebandage it again.

“Athos, can you hear me?” 

He asked his patient, but he received no answer. Athos could hear voices in the distance, but he didn’t know who was talking to him. The moment when he had wanted to apologise to Tréville, he had suddenly seen the face of the man again, who had fired the pistol. His facial expression full of hatred, the face grew hazy in front of him and instead of him he saw Porthos lying dead on the floor, bleeding from a chest wound. The picture made him gasp, he shouted for Aramis to help and after that everything became blurred. 

He felt hands touching his body, he heard voices calling his name. The next thing he realised was Porthos’ concerned shout and Aramis slapping his face, but it all seemed so unreal. His heart pulsed erratically under his rib cage and he felt an itching pain around the area where Aramis had detected his two bruised ribs.

The doctor turned to Captain Tréville.

“Captain, I don’t want lie to you, your soldier is in a very bad state of health. The fact that he is still alive we have to thank Aramis and Porthos for. The shock is still holding this young man in his grip. I have to check his bruised ribs, we have to make sure that they are bound tight, but not too tight, then his head injury, which can be life threatening, but from what I have seen and heard from Aramis I think he was very lucky here.” The doctor turned towards Porthos. “I have brought some chicken soup with us. It will be probably cooled down by now, but we have to make him drink it. The more water and broth we get into him the better.

Porthos stood up and hurriedly moved away from the bed. 

“To me his reaction just looked like a relapse. Such as if he has relived the moment he had been shot.” Aramis quietly stated. “He had such a dream tonight.” Aramis mumbled. “But now he was awake.” 

The medic shook his head and sat on the mattress, stroking gently over Athos’ hair and talking to him words of comfort. He wished that Athos would come back from his trance like state, but nothing happened.

Tréville tired of watching only went to Athos’ other side and gently took the left hand of the injured man in his.

“Come on, son, talk to me, you just wanted to tell me something.” 

He spoke with a soft voice and to all their astonishment Athos turned his head towards their Captain, blinked several times and then locked eyes with his Captain.

“I’m sorry ... I ff … ailed … you.” He whispered.

“No, you haven’t.” Tréville shook his head. “You acted bravely.”

“But you were angry ... when Porthos told you ... what happened?” Athos said weakly.

“I was worried.” Tréville sighed and sat down on the mattress not letting go of Athos’ hand, which the injured Musketeer suddenly pressed very tight. 

Athos flinched when he felt the doctor checking over his ribs again and whimpered softly.

“Sorry for that, I am nearly finished.” The doctor mumbled. 

Athos felt himself being lifted by Aramis and the doctor bound the bandage around his chest again, tight but not too tight, so that he still could breathe without experiencing pain, making sure that this time he didn’t have to remove the pendant. 

“Cold …” Athos slurred.

“Because we haven taken the blankets away to treat you better.” Aramis softly explained to the exhausted man.

“Hmm … why am I … still … so … much … pain.” He whispered while starting slightly to shiver.

“Doctor we have to tuck him in the blankets again.” Aramis said. Then he turned all his attention back to Athos and whispered in his ear. “Don’t speak. Calm. The pain is normal.”

“That’s it.” 

The doctor gave Aramis a sign and the latter gently helped Athos back on the mattress and pillow. Tréville helped him then to tuck Athos in his blankets again after Aramis had put down the lifted shirt.

Porthos reappeared with a bottle filled with chicken broth and Aramis helped Athos to drink several sips. Then exhaustedly Athos turned his head away and closed his eyes again. 

“Stay awake a little longer.” 

The doctor ordered with a strict voice and Athos forced himself to open his eyes again. The man searched for something in his medical bag and he found a little vial. He stepped next to Athos again, put his palm on Athos’ still undressed chest and felt the heartbeat of his patient. He waited a minute, then he reached with his fingers, for Athos’ wrist and counted the pulse.

“Athos can you open your mouth, please and breathe in and out. Just like I’m showing you right now?” The doctor asked and Athos followed his instructions, while the doctor bent his head over Athos’ chest, laid his ear on his patient’s chest and listened. “That’s it.” He said after Athos repeated what the doctor had asked him for several times.

Aramis who suddenly knew what the doctor was checking asked calmly in order not to stress Athos further.

“Is that really necessary. His heart just slowed down again.” Aramis protested.

“We have to transport him back and the ride on the wagon will be painful. He is complaining about pain and to be honest I had patients in his state who were screaming and shouting while I examined them. Right now he’s trying to oppress this with the little strength he has left. His body needs rest and to sleep, but he won’t be able to do this if he wakes up each time the wagon hits a bump on the road.”

“Are you certain?” Aramis asked having his doubts.

“Yes, he is young and strong enough. He has no problems with his lungs and his heart seems to be strong enough too. I will give him some of the medicine. It will help his body to relax and he needs it to heal.”

“What are you talking about?” Tréville wanted to know.

“I want to give Athos a medicine, so that he won’t be in such immense pain during the drive back. His body will need it.” He added cautiously, seeing Aramis angry glare, which Tréville detected while the medic was looking away from Athos, Tréville suddenly realised what was going on.

“Doctor, Aramis, why don’t we discuss this outside.” Tréville demanded and gently pressed Athos’ hand, then he left and Aramis and the doctor followed him.

Athos looked confused towards Porthos, who only shrugged. 

“What’s going on?” Athos whispered tiredly?

“No idea.” Porthos mumbled. “Aramis can be sometimes overprotective. Be assured it’s nothing to worry about for you.”

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

**_Outside the room_ **

“Do you think it’s really necessary to give him laudanum?” Tréville asked.

“It will be only a small amount against the pain. It will help to ease the immense pain his body is in, it will steady his breathing and make him sleep the whole time on the way back.” The doctor said.

“He has problems with alcohol, doctor.” Aramis tried to intervene. “Laudanum can make you addictive.”

Tréville frowned.

“Has he ever been given laudanum before or used it on a regular basis?” The doctor asked.

“I have no idea. I doubt it, but …” 

Aramis drew his hand through his thick brown hair, feeling suddenly so tired. The minor relapse of Athos earlier had taken his toll on the medic. Watching the young man struggling for each breath, feeling his too fast heartbeat under his hand.

“What would happen if we didn’t give him this medicine, doctor?” Tréville asked.

“He won’t be able to sleep. The road is very bumpy and the thunderstorm last night hasn’t helped, it has caused new holes in the roads. He will feel each hole on his injured body. It will make him move restlessly and he might crack his ribs through the movement, if one rib is jabbed into his lung he won’t survive this.” The doctor stated firmly.

“And what if he rides on a horse, instead of putting him on the wagon?” Tréville asked cautiously.”

“Hmm … the doctor thought aloud. “It could work, if we bind his upper body with some sheets to the chest of another rider. This way we can probably prevent his ribs breaking, but the ride will still be very painful for him.”

“You forget about his wound at his left side. Riding will leave him in unbearable pain as well. The movement can tear his stitches and through the abrasion he will have to endure each time his body bounces on the body of the other rider the wound would even cause him worse pain and it can get infected.” Aramis warned. 

Tréville sighed, then he looked at both men in front of him.

“I will ask him.” Tréville paused. “If he has ever taken laudanum before we won’t give him any. The problem he has with alcohol is already one enough. If he says no and he agrees, you will give him a small amount. Either way we will transport him on the wagon.”

“Captain.” Aramis tried to protest. “He’s too confused to make this decision.”

“I know Aramis, but at least we need to ask him, if he ever has taken it before. I don’t want to see him suffer, but I don’t want to loose him. He must survive.” 

Aramis nodded understandingly, remembering Porthos’ words. 

_ If he really should become addicted to laudanum, we can cross this bridge together.  _

Tréville pressed Aramis’ arm, then he returned into the room where Athos was lying. The sleepy patient looked at him curiously with half opened eyes.

The Captain sat down next to him.

“Athos, I have an important question for you and I want you to be honest with me.”

Athos frowned, but didn’t speak against the Captain’s word.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain.” Athos tried to sound as steadfast as possible.

“Have you ever taken or been given laudanum?”

Athos finally understood. He had heard about that strong medicine, but never used it.

“No, Captain, but I don’t want it.” He locked eyes with his commanding officer, while feeling suddenly afraid. “I have heard that it has killed injured people.”

“It would only be a small amount?” Tréville said carefully, ignoring Athos’ protest.

“I have to, haven’t I?” Athos asked quietly the sadness in his voice now obvious.

Aramis now stepped next to him and crouched down next to his head. He waited until Athos looked him into his face.

“No, you haven’t, if you don’t want to.”

“But I won’t be in so much pain on the way back?”

“No, it would take the pain away from you, help you with your breathing and make you sleepy.”

Athos exhausted, closed his eyes as fear gripped his body. He had heard of people who had taken it and never woken up again. Porthos who felt Athos’ unease now gently pressed his shoulder. Leaning over his ear he whispered:

“I won’t leave you alone.”

“Do you order me to take it?” Athos quietly asked looking back to his Captain.

“No, but it can help you, Athos.” Tréville smiled at the injured man.

Aramis knew whatever happened afterwards he would need to keep an eye on the new Musketeer, because when he found out that this medicine helped him to sleep he would probably search to take more of it. Everything in him screamed to stop Athos from taking it, but he observed Athos more closely and he could see that pain was written all over his face, even if he tried to hide it, the doctor was right.

“I won’t lie to you, Athos, this medicine is dangerous.” Aramis gently said. “But it most probably will help you to heal faster.”

Athos’ eyes wandered from Aramis to Tréville and then back. 

“I can’t decide.” Athos murmured and closed his eyes, confusion gripping his mind again.

Tréville sighed, the doctor paced restlessly back and forward and Aramis tried to oppress some tears of frustration.

“I trust you, Aramis.” Athos suddenly mumbled, remembering Porthos’ previous words that Aramis only wanted to protect him. “You decide for me.” He opened his green eyes again and looked at his new friend.

Aramis looked over to Tréville, who nodded approvingly. The medic sat now down on the mattress.

“Alright, Athos, the doctor will give you a small dose.”

“Will it make me sleep at once?” Athos asked his voice now slightly trembling.

“It will help you to fall asleep, more importantly you will be in less pain.” The doctor said, searching in his medical bag for a spoon to give the medicine to his patient.

“Stop.” Athos mumbled.

“You don’t want to take it?” Tréville asked quietly.

“Not now, I want …” Athos felt his body shivering more and more and he paused exhausted, still fighting not to groan out loud.

“What do you want?” Porthos asked seeing the miserable state of his friend.

“I don’t want to be carried … can you help me to walk … and then give me … the medicine.”

The doctor already wanted to protest, but the three Musketeers all understood Athos’ demand. Porthos looked questioningly over to Aramis.

“Can we do it?”

“It probably will hurt you much more …” Aramis started.

“I know, but please, it’s not that far, is it?” Athos murmured feeling more and more sleepy.

“No, the wagon is waiting outside the main door.” Porthos smiled.

“We will help you, Athos.” Aramis said. “Porthos and I will walk with you to the wagon and give you the medicine there.” 

“Thank … you …” Athos slurred and closed his eyes again.

“Let him sleep until we have packed up everything else, this bed is more comfortable, than if he has to wait in the sunshine on the hard wagon.” The doctor said.

“Good, we will wake him again after everything is prepared. So we leave Athos long enough for us to arrange everything for the departure.” Aramis stated firmly.

“Alright.” The Captain nodded then he turned towards Porthos. “Come with me, show me what happened, while we are waiting for Aramis to finish with the doctor preparing the wagon.” 

Aramis turned his head towards Porthos and the Captain:

“Can you search the dead raiders for five diamonds. I found three on a man yesterday and put them with the others in the saddlebag, but according to a note I found on this dead man too, there are still five stones missing. Maybe another bandit has taken those away.”

Tréville nodded:

“Of course Aramis, thank you for telling me.” He gave Porthos a sign and the streetfighter followed him.

**_To be continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the use of laudanum:   
> I have found different sources in the internet saying it was already used and others that it was used several decades later. I assume for this story that the palace doctor for the King of France would have already known about it and I can see that Athos might have heard about it and that Aramis as a medic had to already use it on severely injured soldiers. Laudanum could make you addictive and a too large amount could kill you.
> 
> Apologies to those of you who have expected that other bandits would appear during the night and that there would be a second attack. I wanted to write this time a shorter story, besides Aramis and Porthos are busy dealing with a fallen / injured comrade, who needs all their attention in order to survive and not give up.
> 
> Many thanks for your help Beth! xx Kira


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for leaving kudos, reading and of course your lovely reviews!  
> Here is the next chapter and last chapter before the epilogue.  
> Enjoy!  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 11**

**⚔⚔**

 

 

It took them half an hour to prepare everything for their departure. Tréville spent time talking to Porthos, who showed him the dead bandits. Both he and Tréville started to search them again, but they couldn’t find any other diamonds.

“Nothing.” Porthos mumbled. “Maybe Aramis counted wrong, we all were tired that night.”

“It’s probable, but I think Aramis counted them several times before telling us. Maybe one of them has swallowed them. We will bring the dead corpse back to Paris as well and I will order a further investigation. There’s nothing we can do for now.” Tréville sighed, knowing that the King wouldn’t be delighted to find out that not all the diamonds had been found.

Porthos nodded in agreement:

“I will ask some other Musketeers to help us.”

“Not so fast Porthos, can you show me what happened during the fight?” Tréville asked him.

“If I stand here, the bandit there, and you over there Porthos, it looks as though it really was Athos’ only chance to save you from being hit in your chest.” Tréville looked at the streetfighter. Then he continued. “That was a decision he had to make within seconds.”

“Marsac thinks he has a death wish.” Porthos answered quietly.

“What do you think, Porthos?” Tréville wanted to know silently admitting that now and then he had thought that too.

“I have seen him fighting to stay alive all night long. He didn’t want to die.” Porthos said. “I think this is evidence enough for me. “I have the impression that something bad has happened to him that he wants to forget.” He added. “But if you ask me, if he tried to get himself killed on his very first mission, I can definitely tell you, that he didn’t.”

“Nevertheless we have to keep an eye on him.” Tréville cautiously said.

“Believe me, I will. He saved my life!” Porthos looked his Captain straight in the eyes. Tréville thought about his next question, but then decided to ask it. He valued Porthos for his honesty.

“Why did you act against my direct order?”

Porthos flinched.

“Did I, that wasn’t my intention, I am sorry, Captain.” He was thinking hard what Tréville could mean, the Captain reconsidered his words and rephrased his question.

“Why did you ask Athos to go along with you and not with Marsac as planned?”

“He needed a break.” Porthos answered.

“A break from what?”

Porthos stayed silent for a moment.

“Do I really have to answer that question?”

He quietly asked, while looking at the blood spots on the stairs, which Athos had left, when he had tumbled down them. Tréville realising that Porthos didn’t want to be disloyal towards a fellow Musketeer, immediately understood.

“I think you just answered me.” He stated firmly. “I have to thank you he quietly added as he stepped next to Porthos and put his hand on his shoulder squeezing it gently.

“Why?”

“Because commanding is not always easy, Pothos.” He quietly admitted. “I thought that it would be good for them both to work together, to overcome finally whatever it is, what’s going on between them, but it was too early.”

Porthos snorted.

“They need a deserted barn, their fists and ten minutes on their own, to settle things, not a mission, where they have to arrest dangerous criminals.”

“That bad?” Tréville asked.

“Permission to speak openly.”

“Go on.”

“Athos loves rules. He is someone who does everything by the book or let’s put it this way if you order him to do something he listens to you and follows your order, no matter what, because he respects you.”

“That’s what a good soldier should do. Listen to his commanding officer. Don’t you think that?” Tréville raised an eyebrow and glared dangerously at Porthos for several seconds. “That’s why I asked you to take him along, to learn that from him.” He added.

Porthos looked at him confused and Tréville laughed out loud.

“Captain, Athos is much more a strategical thinker than me, what he needs to learn is that it is sometimes necessary to bend the rules.”

“I think I finally understand where you are hinting at. Go on.” Tréville encouraged his soldier.

“Do you remember our fistfight in the pouring rain?”

“How could I forget that? He ended up in the infirmary.”

“Not if he had listened to me, but there he simply thought about rules, rules for a fist fight, I wondered where he learned them, but they were all rubbish. I never told him, but that day, the pouring rain made me see less, he could have easily won, by using my disadvantage against me.”

“Why do you think he didn’t take his chance? Perhaps he didn’t notice it.”

“No, he did, but he was too polite.” Porthos quietly answered. “And too stubborn to use his stupid rules.”

“Forget what I say to you now.” Tréville searched for Porthos’ attention, when he had it he continued. “If Athos survives, and I pray he will, then teach him to sometimes be more like you and Aramis, teach him to bend my orders from time to time.” Tréville sighed loud.

“Will do Captain.”

Porthos mumbled quietly, astonished at first about Tréville’s words, but then he knew why he had asked him to do it. Tréville felt guilty that he had misjudged what would happen between Marsac and Athos.

“Come, it’s time to take him home and make sure that he will soon lie in his own bed and rest.” Tréville headed down the stairs and Porthos followed him, wondering what just had happened between him and the Captain.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Aramis had woken Athos by gently slapping his cheeks. The confused and injured man had first blinked, but then he realised where he was and that it was time for him to return to the garrison. Aramis had decided to wrap him in the warm blanket, making sure that Porthos took his boots, jacket, weapons and trousers to the wagon. Tréville had given him his blue cape which he now carefully draped over the blanket. They helped Athos into a sitting position and wanted to wait until Porthos returned, but when sitting up hurt him so much that all he could do was scream out loud, it was Aramis, who hoisted him and helped him into a standing position, hoping that this way his injured side and bruised ribs would hurt less. Athos started to tremble heavily and leaned more and more on Aramis’ chest, while Tréville helped to steady him.

“Do you really want to walk Athos?” He quietly asked again, but the young man only nodded.

_Even when he is sick he is as stubborn as a mule._ Tréville thought.

Porthos reappeared and together with Aramis, both senior Musketeers took their new member between them. Helping Athos to lay his arms across each of their shoulders. When Aramis was certain that Athos would be able to walk the small distance he gave the order:

“Go.”     

Athos felt grateful that they gave him the chance to leave that place, where he had been injured, with his head held high. Nevertheless each of his movement send tremors through his whole body and his injured side felt like being on fire. He could feel his hurt ribs protesting each of his movements and he started to sway dangerously, while oppressing another loud moan.

“I know you asked to walk with us out of here, but I have to intervene.” Porthos stopped and looked his new brother in his pale face. His breathing was shallow and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

“Please.” Athos whimpered. “I want to walk. I don’t want to be carried like a potato sack.” He whispered.

“Ha, when I have to carry you, I carry you like a bride.” Porthos laughed, but stopped at once, when he saw Athos’ face even getting paler. “Sorry, just kidding.” He mumbled. “No, I mean allow us to walk for you. Let us do the work.”

“How?” Athos asked confused.

“Just put all your weight on our shoulders.” Aramis explained. “Trust us, no one will see that you don’t walk. Can you do this.”

“Hmm …” Athos answered. Then he leaned more and more with his arms on both of his new friends.

“Now you only have to move your feet.” Aramis encouraged him and the swordsman followed his instructions.

Athos had no idea how much time it took them to cross the corridor he had entered the day before, following Porthos with his pistol in his hand, his sword ready to be drawn.

_What a difference to yesterday,_ he thought. _Back then I could run, now I am too weak to even walk by myself._

He felt another sharp pain in his side and shouted out loud. Tréville who was following them slowly, flinched. Everything in him screamed to stop that walk and simply carry his young soldier outside on his own.

“Shall we stop?” Aramis whispered in his ear.

“No.” Athos gasped.

Porthos shared a glance with Aramis and without speaking they knew what they had to do. They lifted their sick brother several inches from the floor and quickened their paces.

Athos’ head lolled on Aramis’ shoulder and the latter could feel his hair on his face. Captain Tréville, who was still behind him looked at his three Musketeers, how two were supporting and now lifting their third comrade. Pride filled his chest that his men didn’t disappoint and were living up to their motto: _One for all and all for one._ The longer he looked at the picture in front of him, the longer a thought appeared in his mind.

_They look like Inséperables. What happened that night? Yesterday morning they came to me to complain and now they are protecting and helping him with all they can give. At least there my instincts didn’t betray me when I asked them, to help Athos to become a Musketeer._

He stayed for a while behind, looking at the picture in front of him and watched how they carefully carried Athos out of the château.

“We are nearly there.” Aramis whispered in Athos’ ear.

He wasn’t sure if Athos had heard him or if he was still awake. When they finally reached the wagon, Porthos changed position with the Captain and climbed on the wagon. Then Tréville and Aramis lifted the barely conscious man in Porthos’ arms, so that he could use Porthos’ lab as a pillow. Aramis knelt next to Athos. Lifted his head and put a pillow between his head and Porthos’ thighs. Then he wrapped the still ailing man in several blankets and put more pillows under his back, legs and feet. After he had made sure Athos was lying as comfortable as possible in the wagon, he gave the doctor a sign to finally give Athos the laudanum.

“Maybe we wait. I think he has fallen asleep.” Porthos suggested. “No need to wake him.”

“No, he needs the medicine now. His body will hurt him and wake him up again, what he needs is rest.” The doctor told them, he gently cupped Athos’ cheeks and the young soldier opened his eyes sluggishly.

“Open your mouth Athos!” He ordered and the swordsman silently obeyed.

Athos felt a spoon being showed in his open mouth and a bitter taste suddenly burned on his tongue. The liquid was mixed with wine and he swallowed it.

“That’s it.” The doctor pressed a cup of water to his lips and asked Athos to drink, again the sleepy man followed and drank half of the cup.”

“This way we can ensure that he really swallows all the medicine.” The doctor explained. “You soon should feel less pain, if not, you have to tell me.” He said. “That was a very small dose.”

“I think what you gave him is enough.” Tréville said in a firm commanding tone, seeing Aramis glancing worriedly towards him.

“How do you feel, Athos?”

Aramis gently asked after several minutes of waiting that the laudanum would act on Athos’ body, while sitting next to his patient on another blanket and preparing himself now for the bumpy drive too. Porthos and he had decided to stay all the time with Athos on the wagon.

“I’m so tired.” Athos mumbled, but he didn’t fall asleep at once.

Captain Tréville stepped next to Athos laid his hand on his shoulder for a while and then bent down over his ear and whispered:

“It’s time to bring you home, son. Promise me to stay alive.” He ordered.

“I do, Cap …”

Athos slurred, suddenly feeling less pain in his left side and chest, but at the same time he was too tired to lift his head or open his eyes anymore. Several seconds later they could hear his breathing changing.

“He’s fallen asleep.”

The doctor declared and Tréville gave the Musketeer who was driving the cart and his other soldiers the command to return back to Paris.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

Along with other Musketeers Marsac watched the wagon being brought into the garrison. Athos was covered with several blankets, so that only his curly hair and some white skin of his cheeks were visible. From what he could see was the injured man deep asleep, when Porthos gently lifted him in his arms to carry him into the infirmary, helped by Aramis, he didn’t wake up.

Murmurs were heard in the ranks, as the Musketeers formed a spalier, while Porthos passed them with the unconscious young soldier is his arms. Soon the other soldiers wondered, if their newest Musketeer would survive or if they had brought him back to die in the infirmary.

The doctor hurried behind Aramis to make sure that Athos’ wounds hadn’t become infected and that his ribs hadn’t cracked. After half an hour fussing over their patient the doctor and Aramis came to the same conclusion: no infection, no cracked ribs. Due to the fact that Athos hadn’t developed a fever, the doctor had decided to not open the stitched wound again. For a while he had been curious where the bullet had entered the torso near to the hip side and how much it had injured the hip bone.

Aramis had assured him that the injuries were only minor, so no broken pelvis, he had wondered about that too, because of their explanation that he had been in massive pain during the whole night. But he knew that even if the bullet only scraped the hip bone it would hurt immensely. The laudanum still had Athos’ body in a grip and he was deep asleep. His breathing was regular, his heartbeat steady.

The doctor had proposed giving Athos another dose of laudanum the next time he was awake, but that was the moment, when Tréville, who had watched the whole examination from the distance had stepped in and asked if it was really necessary.

The doctor had denied and so Aramis and Tréville had decided to try it without laudanum at first. The medic had started to prepare some pain draughts mixed with several herbs, which he knew would help to numb the pain as well and make Athos sleepy.

Now that Captain Tréville was sure that Athos wasn’t in any immediate danger he ordered Aramis and Porthos to come after they had eaten something into his office.

When Porthos and Aramis entered the canteen Serge hurried over to them with two hot bowls of mutton stew, which they gratefully accepted. Other Musketeers joined them. They were all worried about Athos and asked what had happened. Porthos told them with amplified words how Athos had saved his life and soon the word spread what their newest comrade had done for another. They valued his deed and asked Aramis to wish Athos a speedy recovery.

    When they finally left the canteen in order to report to Tréville Aramis grinned at Porthos:

“You just made Athos a hero, you know that. He will hate you for that.” Aramis laughed.

“I only told them what really happened.”

“They will have a deep respect from now on for him and stop listening to some bad talk from other envious recruits and Marsac.” Aramis mused. “Talking about Marsac, have you seen him?”

“He was under the Musketeers who greeted us, when we returned, but afterwards I haven’t seen him. At least he could have asked about his well-being.” Porthos snorted.

“I wonder why he didn’t offer to return to us?” Aramis said loudly, when they reached Tréville’s door, which stood wide open.”

“If you are talking about Marsac,” Tréville joined their conversation, “he offered to come along, but I ordered him to stay here.”

“Where is he?” Porthos asked.

“He asked the doctor if it was alright to sit at Athos’ bedside, while he is sleeping and he agreed. If you ask me, I think he feels guilty, but I don’t know all facts, I hope you have them for me.” He looked now at Aramis, knowing that Porthos wouldn’t give him any information of what really had happened on their way to the château.

Aramis still thought about the fact that Marsac had offered to watch over their injured friend. Hopefully a good sign, that he would now stop treating Athos as a commoner and unworthy fool. Maybe the fact that Athos had been injured had this small positive side effect, but he somehow doubted it. Moreover he was certain that Marsac had offered to sit with Athos to show the Captain that he was caring for a brother-in-arms.

“Aramis? I’m waiting for an answer.”

“Well …” The medic began, removing his hat from his head and scratching with his right hand the back of his head. He looked into Tréville’s pale blue eyes. “Do you really want to know that?” He asked.

“I need to know to find out if his actions towards Athos endangered his life.”

“Let me put it this way, he has a problem with Athos’ drinking issue and the fact that he isn’t from a noble family, at least he assumes that …” Aramis paused, seeing Tréville’s slightly nod, then he continued, “however, when he found out that Athos had been injured, he helped me to care for him and brought help. He could have broken his neck or been robbed by returning on his own in this thunderstorm to the garrison.” He explained.

“Thank you, that’s what I needed to know. The rest I leave to you for now.” Tréville looked first at Aramis then at Porthos and both men understood at once. If the Captain intervened it would weaken Athos’ position as a new Musketeer. It would be their task to find a way that they all were able to work together.

“About the robbery? Do you have any guesses who is behind it?” Tréville now changed the topic.

“We are not sure, but maybe it has something to do with the Pope in Rome and the marriage between King Charles and Henrietta-Maria.” Aramis said cautiously and gave Tréville the letter he had found on one of the bandits.

“What makes you think that?” He asked.

“Athos assumed it.” Porthos added. “He told us the story about the marriage.”

“Interesting.” Tréville sat down behind his desk and asked both of his Musketeers to sit down as well.

“The Cardinal and I discussed with the King about this yesterday afternoon. Probably we will never find out.” He sighed, then he looked up.

“Do you think that there was another bandit who could have escaped with those five diamonds?” He asked.

“I didn’t see anyone in the gardens.” Aramis said.

“I think Athos was right with five raiders, who attacked the salesman. One we found dying after he had been shot at from the second driver. The other four could flee. If I have to guess the man who aimed at me and shot at Athos had waited there or come to the château to meet up with those four men to deliver the expensive stones.” Porthos mused.

“That would make sense! He wore more expensive clothes and looked like a priest.” Aramis added.

“But where are the missing diamonds?” Porthos asked.

“That’s the question.” Tréville answered. “Who has found the diamonds?” He asked.

“Athos assumed that they still would be in their saddlebags and we found them there.”

“Who found them?” Tréville asked again.

“Marsac. Besides Athos we all had the saddlebags in our hands, if you mean who could have taken five of them.” Aramis explained.

“Captain, I had no time to count them. I was worried about Athos.” Porthos said apologetically.

“Why didn’t Marsac take the stones with him?” Tréville asked.

“He thought it would be safer.” Porthos answered.

“Fact is, we all could have easily taken five stones away. The paper with the information wasn’t in one of the saddlebags but in one of the pockets of a dead bandit.” Aramis explained.

“All of you but Athos could have taken them.” Tréville mused.

“He had other things to worry about than those stones. You have seen how weak he was even walking on his own.” Porthos said angrily.

“Calm Porthos, I didn’t suspect either Athos or you to have taken the stones.”

“But you suspect Marsac?” Aramis asked bluntely.

“He wouldn’t be so stupid.” Porthos interjected. “He’s from a rich family, what reason would he have to steal some stones?”

“I don’t suspect any of my Musketeers. I expect that I can trust all my men!” Tréville now explained. “But I have to ask those questions, because when I go and inform the King about these missing diamonds, the Cardinal will ask these questions.”

“In that case you should search our saddlebags, quarters, to make sure that we haven’t stolen them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Porthos.” Tréville snapped now angrily. “I am sure you wouldn’t hide them either in your room or your saddlebags. Let’s wait and see what the examination of the dead corpse of those bandits will deliver, maybe someone swallowed them. It’s the most probable explanation.”

“You are right, Captain.” Aramis said, he yawned and gave Tréville a sign that he wanted to leave. Of course Aramis was tired but he was sure that the sign should tell him that he wanted to check on Athos.

“Very well.” Tréville said. “I have to thank the both of you.”

“Why?” Aramis and Porthos asked at the same time.

“Because without you, Athos wouldn’t have survived.”

“We have only done what all your men are doing.” Aramis answered and Porthos added. “Divided we fall!”

“Speaking of Athos, do you still need us Captain? I like to check on him and make sure that he really survives.” Aramis said, standing up without waiting for Tréville’s answer. Porthos followed his example.

“We cannot allow that, he has promised me to improve my reading and writing.” He said.

Tréville raised his eyebrow.

“I guess I will never find out what occurred tonight?” Tréville laughed.

“We are sworn to secrecy.” Aramis joked.

“I give you both the week off, so that you have time to take care of Athos. It will do him good, to have friends around him. The next days won’t be easy for him.”

“Thank you Captain.” They both answered and hurried towards the infirmary.

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

Marsac looked up when Aramis followed by Porthos entered the infirmary. He was sitting on a chair next to Athos’ bed:

“I am so glad that he is still alive.” He whispered.

“Thank you for fetching help.” Aramis said and clapped him on his back.

“How is he? Has he woken up?”

“The doctor believes that he will heal, but he hasn’t woken up yet. He has left some of his special medicine which makes Athos sleep and he advised to give him more, if he is still in a great deal of pain.” Marsac added showing with his fingers at a small bottle at a small table, next to Athos’ bed. Then he added: “He stirred several minutes ago, moaned and blinked heavily, but then he drifted off again. Whatever the doctor has given him, it’s pretty strong ...” Marsac stood up. “I should go and see the Captain.” He looked at his comrades and left.

Aramis quietly approached his sleeping patient. The fact that Athos was still asleep worried him, but when Porthos stepped next to him, Athos sluggishly opened his eyes.

“Is he away?” He mumbled.

“Yes he has left.” Porthos grinned, while trying not to burst out in laughter.

“I know I should thank him for fetching help, but … arghh …” Athos screamed.

“Easy, easy.” Aramis calmed him. “Don’t try to move too much.”

“Think the effect of the dose of laudanum is decreasing.” Athos mumbled.

“I will give you a pain draught. It will help you.” Aramis left his side and busied himself with preparing a cup for his patient. Porthos helped Athos to lift his head, while Aramis gave him the cup to drink.”

After several sips, Athos gave them a sign that he had had enough and exhausted dropped back on his pillow.

“You kept your promise.” He whispered, while closing his eyes and feeling sleepy again.

“What promise?” Porthos asked curiously.

“You brought me back, thank … you …” The last words he slurred.

Aramis crouched down next to him, reaching for his now warmer hand, while Porthos gently pressed his shoulder.

“That’s what friends do for each other.” Aramis whispered in Athos’ ear. “Now it’s up to you to keep your promise.”

“Which … was …” Athos asked, his eyes still closed, feeling slightly dazed.

“To survive.” Porthos gently stroked over his hair.

“I’ll …” Athos mumbled, but the last words he couldn’t say because his exhausted body had made him fall asleep again.

Aramis looked over to Porthos, whose eyes were glistening.

“He’ll make it, he has to.” He whispered.

“Of course he will.” Aramis smiled at him. “Besides being our stubborn brother he’s a Musketeer and Musketeers don’t die easily!”

**_To be continued ..._ **

* * *

**_Many thanks to my beta Beth and to Helen for some medical hints xx Kira_ **


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I am back with my very last chapter of “Facing the Storm”.  
> Funny this will be my first story I actually can mark as complete, after starting to write fanfiction in February this year.  
> Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review or a kudo.  
> xx Kira

**Chapter 12**

**⚔⚔**

 

 

**_Epilogue_ **

 

**_Three days later_ **

          Tréville quietly entered the infirmary and paused at the door, watching his newest Musketeer’s chest rising and falling. Athos had been very lucky. The Captain had given Porthos and Aramis several days off to take care of their injured comrade, who as expected, spent most of the time asleep, as the doctor had told him. In his waking moments Porthos and Aramis helped Athos to drink enough tea and broth and also to eat some vegetables and fruits. Without complaining they helped to clean his body when needed and Athos endured it either with silence or with an angry glare.

          Now after three days he still looked pale, but the pain in his side had finally eased. Soon he knew they would have to deal with another problem. Athos hadn’t drunk alcohol for two days and Aramis feared that his body would begin to display withdrawal symptoms, but thus far they hadn’t come which made him consider if Athos really had a problem with heavy drinking or if it was something else which drove Athos to drink.

 

“It’s better to give him small amounts of wine in the evening.” Tréville had ordered them. “Than see him suffering even more.” He had added. And they would follow his advice if Athos asked for wine, but again thus far he hadn’t.

 

          Aramis, who was sitting next to Athos was now standing up to greet his Captain.

 

“How is he?” Tréville asked.

 

“Better than he has been for days.” Aramis smiled. “We soon will need to bind him on his bed, because he wants to stand up and walk around on his own, but his body is still too weak.” He shook his head smiled fondly at his patient and chuckled quietly. “Give him some more days, after that he should start with light practice. He will need a stick for a while.” He added.

 

“I know.” Tréville answered quietly.

 

          They both heard a loud sound and turned their heads towards the patient. Athos had woken up from their talk and had tried to reach for a cup filled with water, but he had misjudged the distance and the cup fell clattering to the floor and burst in shards.

 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled tiredly, while Aramis hurried next to his side and put the shards away.

 

“Do you want to drink something?”

 

“Some water would be good.”

 

             Before Aramis could go, Tréville fetched a fresh cup and poured some water in it.

 

“Here you are.” The Captain stepped next to Athos and handed him the cup.

 

“Captain.” Athos looked up in surprise.

 

“Are you up for a visitor?” He asked.

 

“Please sit.” Athos answered quietly.

 

           Aramis, who sensed that both men needed some time alone, mumbled something like going to the kitchen and left.

 

“How are you, Athos?”

 

“Much better, Captain.” Athos tried to sit up, but Tréville prevented it, by pressing his chest gently down on the mattress.

 

“Stay like this, your body is still weak and needs more rest.”

 

“Did Aramis say that?” Athos asked.

 

“Him, Porthos, the palace doctor and me.” A smile appeared on Tréville’s face, then he continued in a more severe tone. “You had me worried, Athos.”

 

“That wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry, Cap …” Athos wanted to continue, but Tréville raised his other hand in order to give him a sign to stop apologising.

 

“Your job is to heal.” He said. “No need to apologise.”

 

“But.” Athos tried to protest and again Tréville raised his hand.

 

“Hear me out first. I’ve talked with Porthos and he told me what you did in order to save his life.”

 

“There was no other chance.” Athos mumbled.

 

“There are always other chances, but I know what you mean, I’ve seen the corridor where you fought with the bandits. It was either that you would be injured and most likely to survive or Porthos being shot in his chest, the bullet would have highly likely hit his heart.”

 

“I had not much time to think about it.” Athos quietly admitted. “Although I would do it again, if I can save him or another comrade this way.” He said.

 

“I know.” Tréville sighed. “You are a skilled soldier, you are following orders and protecting your comrades.”

 

            He paused and Athos could hear already the “but” hanging in the air and he stayed silent, while he watched with his green eyes his commanding officer more closely, who now searched for the correct words in order not to startle his injured soldier.

 

_Maybe I should wait and come another time again. He still looks very pale and weak._

 

“I accept every punishment, Captain from stable duty to cleaning chamber pots, but please let me stay.” The young man suddenly said in the silence.   

 

“What makes you think that I want you to leave?” Tréville curiously asked.

 

“Because I acted against your direct order, I was a disgrace for the regiment.”

 

“Are we still talking about your first mission?” Tréville now asked slightly amused, slightly taken aback, that Athos feared he would throw him out.

 

“No.” Athos silently admitted. “About me being drunk by morning muster, for that I truly apologise and accept each punishment.

 

“I considered two weeks stable duty.” Tréville told him.

 

“So I will start as soon as I’m allowed to walk again.”

 

“You won’t do it.”

 

“Why not?” Athos looked confused. “I did wrong I have to.”

 

“Aramis and Porthos came to me and volunteered to do it for you and I accepted their offer.”

 

               Athos fell silent, while struggling to find the right words.

 

“They shouldn’t, it was me …” He stammered.

 

“But they offered it and I expected nothing less from them. Your duty will be to rest and heal properly, do you hear me?”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Athos barely audible said.

 

“Perhaps I can do something instead?” He offered.

 

“Yes, you can.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

                 Athos tried to sit up again and this time Tréville helped him up and put some pillows behind his back.

 

“Tell me why you did it?”

 

“What? Porthos was in danger, I thought you understood that I had no other chance.”

 

“Not about that, tell me why you got so drunk that night?”

 

                Athos fell silent again and briefly closed his eyes and Tréville knew that it had been too early.

 

“I can’t.” He barely audible whispered.

 

“I already thought that.” Tréville sighed.

 

“Was it because of a personal reason?”

 

                He asked cautiously and Athos quietly nodded, feeling his face become reddish and using all his strength to hide his emotions.

 

“I see, you can’t tell me, but promise me to talk with a friend or friends about it.” Tréville told him. “Can you do this?”

 

“I already have.”

 

                Athos muttered silently, feeling suddenly very tired, he tried to suppress a yawn, but Tréville noticed it nevertheless.

 

“Good, that’s all I ask for, now you should sleep.”

 

                He helped Athos to lie down again. Then he stood up, but he stopped when Athos reached his hand out for his, and he gently grabbed it only to feel a firm handshake from Athos.

 

“Thank you, Captain.” Athos whispered.

 

                After that Athos’ hand went limp and his young soldier had fallen asleep again. Over the past days Aramis had given Athos pain draughts, which had the effect on Athos that he still couldn’t concentrate very long or stay awake for longer than several minutes. This way the medic hoped that Athos’ wish for something stronger to reduce the pain and laudanum wouldn’t start at all.

 

                 Tréville wasn’t sure if Athos would ask for more laudanum, but the fact that Aramis started to worry showed him that the medic must know more about Athos’ past than he had found out by now. The Captain of the Musketeer watched Athos’ closed eyes, his soft breathing, then he bent over his ear.

 

“You are more than welcome, _my son_.” Tréville whispered putting his hand gently under the blanket.   

 

                He watched over his sleeping Musketeer until Porthos arrived to take his turn. He greeted him, then stood up and left. On his way out he suddenly had to smile. His plan had worked, by ordering Porthos and Aramis to take good care of his newest recruit and now Musketeer, they had not only become friends, but brothers.

 

                From the first moment he had met Athos in a tavern, where he had saved his life, he had sworn to help this troubled young man. He had no idea when they had become friends, he assumed the night at the abandoned château was the reason, but he was glad that Athos finally had found brothers, he could talk to.

 

 _After storm there comes always sun. You simply needed others to show you, Athos._ He thought. _There’s still hope after all that I can form you into a fine Musketeer and officer one day._

 

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

 

                Tréville walked up the stairs to the balcony and his office, inside he put his hat on his bed and walked over to his desk, which was covered with reports about the robbery, a suspicion that the Pope in Rome could have something to do with it, but no real proof yet. The bodies of the dead raiders had been cut open to search for the missing diamonds, their clothes had been searched three more times by different Musketeers and Tréville even had sent another group of Musketeers back to the château to search for the stones, but all these attempts hadn’t brought anything.

 

                The expensive stones were still missing. The stones had been sent via the Dutch tradesman to Paris and the Court in order to give them to a highly respected expert, who should put them on a Crown for the new King of England*. Henrietta-Maria had convinced her husband that the best jeweller was working at the Court of her brother Louis. Now some small diamonds were still missing, which could cause great trouble between England and France.

 

                 With a loud sigh Tréville shoved all those papers aside. He needed to get rid of the picture in his mind of a very upset and angry Louis. He went to his cupboard and retrieved the page, where he had dated all the facts he had known so far about Athos. He returned to his desk, reached for quill and ink and started to write down what he had found out during the past three days.

 

                 The link with the name’s day had been the important hint, without knowing what Athos had told Aramis and Porthos who respected his privacy, he had started to look through old death notifications in the office of the magistrate and church books. Looking up all names of dead nobleman and their sons, who had died in the past five years. Finally he had found a name. The late Comte de la Fère had two sons Olivier, his first born and Thomas his second. Behind Thomas name someone had signed a cross, the same sign was behind the name of the father of the two sons. It was the usual sign to mark people who were already deceased.

 

                With this information he had asked around at the Court about the whereabouts of the young Comte, Olivier. It had taken him two more days, more than one _livre_ , but in the end an old man, who had lived at Pinon, reached out to him and told him, that Olivier d’Athos de la Fère had left his manor several months ago, after his brother had been murdered.

 

 _“How was he killed?_ Tréville had wondered.

 

 _“About what I’ve heard he was knifed … a dagger in his heart.”_ The man had told him.

 

 _“Did they ever found out who has killed him?”_ Tréville had asked.

 

_“I have no proof, but there are rumours.”_

 

 _“What kind of rumours? Has Olivier killed his brother?”_ Tréville had asked carefully.

 

 _“God behave, he would have never been able to do this, he loved his younger brother. I have to go back and ask around,”_ the old man had told him, _“I don’t want to suggest something that is wrong.”_ Tréville had let him go.

 

                 Finally he had a name. It had to be him, a first born son of a noble family and the identical name Athos plus the name Thomas of his younger brother was proof for him enough. The way the swordsman acted and his age fitted as well. Tréville thought he remembered from earlier times that he had met his father years ago at Court, and they looked similar: the nose, the eyes, the mouth, however of course he could have made that all up.

 

                 Captain Tréville wrote all the names down he had found out so far. Now wasn’t the time to confront Athos with it, but one day, when he was ready he would ask him. The last that he wrote was the date when Athos had been commissioned in June 1625 by the King and after the numbers he wrote:

 

 **_Olivier d’Athos, Comte de la Fère, soldier of the King’s Musketeers._ ** ****

 

**The End!**

* * *

  **Notes: **

_*The coronation of Charles I. took place on the 2nd February 1626._

The fact that the coronation was later than the wedding brought me to the idea about the diamonds being delivered to France. I invented the part of the jeweller, I am sure King Charles had very good jewellers in England as well ;-)

* * *

 

 

That’s the end of the first part of a three part series I intend to write, if I find enough time and real life will allow me to do it. All three parts shall concentrate on the story how Aramis, Porthos and Athos became the _Inséperables_.

The second part will focus on Porthos and the third part will deal with Savoy and of course will focus then on Aramis. Nevertheless Athos will play an important role in all three stories and we will see Marsac again.

 

**_I leave you with several questions:_ **

_Who has taken/stolen the diamonds?_

_Was there another bandit hiding in the château, who managed to get away unharmed?_

_Was it Marsac? And if … why?_

_Or is there a completely other explanation to it?_

_Will Aramis and Porthos be able to help Athos to overcome his drinking problem and what is with the laudanum bottle the doctor left next to Athos’ bed?_

_Will Athos and Marsac find a way to overcome their differences?_

 

_I would be delighted to read and hear from you. Thank you so much for all your reviews, because they really motivate me to continue to write._

_xx Kira_

* * *

 

_I would have never been able to finish this story without the help of two dear friends, who helped me with proofreading and medical input. All remaining mistakes are mine!_

_Thank you Helen for proofreading ch 1 &2 and your medical input!_

_Thank you Beth for proofreading all 12 chapters and helping me with re-formulating phrases or using different words and of course spotting my many mistakes!!!_

_xx Kira_

* * *

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> * Scene from “In the hour of need, I can count on you”, ch 9  
> ** Scene from “In the hour of need, I can count on you”, ch 34 lol (already written, I still have to post it).


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